Learning Curve
by Lil black dog
Summary: Sequel to ‘His Last Breath,’ with tie-ins to several of my other works and significant events from season three of TOS. If you haven’t seen season three, this story does contain major spoilers. A K&S&M friendship piece.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Sequel to 'His Last Breath,' with tie-ins to several of my other works and significant events from season three of TOS. If you haven't seen season three, this story does contain major spoilers, and events alluded to will be unclear without that background to draw on. A K&S&M friendship piece.

Special acknowledgment to Barbara Hambly, and her incredible novel 'Ishmael,' which provided the background history on Spock's human ancestors.

And as always, thanks to Anna Amuse for her superb beta skills, and to Verenna and T'Paya, whose comments also brought about changes for the better. I'd never manage to get by without a little help from my friends. ;-)

**Learning Curve**

Something was just not right.

McCoy couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but something was wrong. On the surface, all seemed okay between the captain and XO – any casual observer wouldn't be able to detect that anything was amiss – the ship was running smoothly, they still engaged in their regularly-scheduled workouts, chess games, and he was meeting them momentarily for dinner in the main mess, but he knew instinctively that all was not well with his two friends.

This was the main thought pressing him as he buzzed the door to the Chief Engineer's office.

"Come."

He drew a fortifying breath and stepped inside.

"Here now, what are ye doin' here, Doctor?" the room's occupant said, glancing up from a desk stacked with unruly piles of journals, padds and various tools. "Is something wrong with one o' my lads? I really can't spare anyone right now – I've got my top people pulling double shifts to make sure we hold together until—" the words stuttered and stumbled rapidly over one another. McCoy held up a hand to stop the onslaught.

"Relax, Scotty. I'm not here to tell you how to run your department, but I do have a question for you."

"Okay…" He eyed the doctor warily, waving him into a chair.

McCoy seated himself and cleared his throat. "Once we get to Starbase Two, will you need Jim and Spock's input, or can you oversee the repairs to the _Enterprise_ yourself?"

"Aye, I can manage it. What's this all about, Doctor?"

"Well…"

***

Step one of his plan was now complete, and frankly that had been the easy part. He hadn't gone into a whole lot of detail, but Scotty mentioned that the two had seemed a little 'off' to him as well, and the engineer had been more than willing to help; the doctor had been pretty sure that would be the case, but the affirmation was reassuring.

Now came step two, and he knew without question this would be the more difficult part. He hardly took notice of the bustle and noise of the crowded corridors as he made his way to the main mess, his thoughts traveling once again to _why_ this was necessary.

It had been a hell of a year, for all of them, and he was deeply concerned for both men: the captain had lost a wife and unborn child, two women he had fallen in love with, had come close to dying in Tholian space, and had his body stolen, almost permanently, by a jilted ex-lover. And Spock had fared no better: left fighting for his sanity after an ill-fated meld with the Medusan Ambassador, driven almost to his breaking point by sadistic so-called disciples of Plato, losing a love on Sarpeidon and then very nearly his life on Uriman V. The doctor had had his own share of difficulties: a bout with xenopolycythemia, a short-lived marriage to a beautiful woman, and then tortured to within an inch of his life by the Vians.

And he knew it had been most difficult for Jim when the captain had been called away in the middle of searching for his friends, leaving him and Spock stranded on Beta Arcida IV for eight days, their fate uncertain. Their CO had done everything in his power to retrieve them before it was too late.

Over the last few weeks McCoy had noticed a definite increase in their stress levels, Kirk becoming irritable and short-tempered, Spock more withdrawn, somber. He had spoken with each man separately, casually voicing his concerns that the other was overworked, overstressed, in need of a rest, and while they had each agreed with him where his friend was concerned, neither was willing to take leave for himself. The doctor had even hinted at the possibility of the two of them taking leave together, but each man had immediately put forth an argument as to why he couldn't possibly be away from the ship at the moment, all the while expressing his support for the CMO to do whatever was necessary to get the other to comply.

And compliance was the paramount issue. They were both stubborn, dedicated to a fault, believing themselves above the needs and foibles of the average man. Each felt it was imperative to be strong, set a shining example for those around him, even at the expense of his own well-being.

He was worried about the mental health of both men, but Spock especially. Ever since his two friends had returned from Uriman V, Spock had seemed ueber-Vulcan, at least as far as McCoy was concerned. After the Tholian incident, he and the First Officer had agreed to put their differences aside and work together in an effort to protect Jim from his sometimes overzealous altruistic tendencies, but to McCoy, Spock seemed unusually distant lately. Perhaps it had to do with the doctor's pointed questions after Spock's nearly-fatal bout with pneumonia and Kirk's as yet unexplained role in keeping the Vulcan alive until help arrived.

The doctor knew both men were hurting, each in their own way, their individual pain more alike than either fully realized, but their recent punishing schedule had left no time to thoroughly discuss any of these events with either man. Unsure either one would open up to him completely, McCoy felt certain that if he could get them in the right environment, under the right circumstances, he could get them to talk to each other.

Not to mention, they all needed a respite, some time to unwind, needed it desperately, even Spock, although the stoic Vulcan would never admit it. A few days without schedules and orders from Command, without responsibility, without duty – just time to be. Something had to give; something had to be done, and soon, and McCoy took it upon himself to do it.

The objects of his thoughts were currently enjoying a late supper, Jim and Spock just having completed their daily workout in the ship's gym. As he made his way to the synthesizer he could see the two were engaged in a relaxed, albeit spirited conversation. Depositing his tray on the table, he seated himself next to Kirk. The captain and first officer were in the midst of discussing ship's business.

"We can't arrive at Starbase Two fast enough for my tastes, Spock. Scotty says the _Enterprise _is in rough shape. The active antimatter variance regulator is being held together by 'spit and a prayer' according to my Chief Engineer, and the warp core is long overdue for scheduled maintenance and refurbishment. I don't know of another engineer in the fleet that could have kept her going for this long, and at close to peak levels no less," he remarked appreciatively, "but if we don't get her in for repairs soon, I think our resident Scotsman is likely to implode."

"Agreed. The ship requires essential repairs, and performance levels for a preponderance of the crew have fallen below ninety-two percent, sub par for our personnel, indicating an urgent need for mandatory R&R. It has been a most difficult several months for them."

"Why Spock, I didn't know you cared." A sly grin creased McCoy's features. "How very human of you to notice."

"You are forgetting, Doctor," Spock began, turning blandly to the CMO, "it is my duty as First Officer to ensure the smooth operation of the ship and her crew. Since the vast majority of her personnel are human, and since humans do require a certain amount of 'down time,' it is only logical for me to bring this to the Captain's attention." He cocked an eyebrow, crossing his arms across his chest – challenging McCoy to a verbal duel almost as if he'd slapped the man with a white glove.

McCoy saw his opening and pounced like the proverbial tiger. "Good point, Spock. I myself have noticed certain crew members who are in serious need of some 'down time' and have therefore put in a request for medical leave on Triani Prime. It's on the way to Starbase Two. The crewmen could be dropped off en route and collected after the repairs are complete. How long will that take, Spock?" he asked, raising a mouthful of Pasta Carbonara to his lips.

"According to Mr. Scott's estimates, repairs can be effected in seven point two solar days."

"Perfect. Eight hour's travel each way, that would make the stay on Triani about ten days, given its shorter rotational period," McCoy muttered to himself. "Just so happens, I booked accommodations on the planet for the crewmen in question for ten days." He looked quite pleased with himself.

"So who're the mystery patients, Bones?" Kirk asked around a bite of his Cajun chicken breast, his gaze intent upon the doctor.

"You, Spock and I will be relaxing on the beach in sixteen hours," McCoy replied smugly.

"Huh?" Kirk paused in mid-chew, locking eyes with the surgeon, who looked as if he had just invented birth control for Tribbles. "Now wait a minute Doctor—" said in his best command tone.

Spock was speaking at the same time, uncharacteristically talking over his CO, a forkful of salad poised midway between his bowl and his mouth. "I can assure you, Doctor, I am not in need of—"

McCoy waved a hand, effectively silencing them both. "Sorry gentlemen, Doctor's orders. We've all been through the ringer of late, and if we – this means you, too Spock," he said, stopping the Vulcan with an icy glare before he could start to belabor the point – "are to be operating at peak efficiency, we need this break – all of us."

"Agreed, but the timing couldn't be worse." This from Kirk. "Spock and I need to be at Starbase Two to oversee the repairs to the _Enterprise._"

"Indeed," Spock chimed in.

"Funny, because I just finished talking to Scotty—"

"I thought you were working on quarterly reports?" Kirk interrupted, eyeing the doctor warily.

McCoy flashed him a dark look, the blue eyes glittering. Surprisingly, Kirk closed his lips over his next words. The doctor began again. "As I was saying, I just finished talking to Scotty, and he assured me he could manage just fine without you two mother hens hovering over him. In fact, he positively beamed when I told him. Said something about being able to look after his 'bairns' just fine all by himself." McCoy shot each of them a self-satisfied smirk in turn. Meeting Kirk's obstinate look head on, his expression turned serious. "I'm not kidding Jim. I wouldn't want to have to file a report with Starfleet Medical certifying either of you unfit for duty, but I will if I have to – don't force my hand." He tried for a gentler approach. "Besides, we'll be staying near the Essirian Marine Mammal Preserve on Marena Island. We can go sailing, swimming, and there's even a whole mess of animal species Spock can catalogue and analyze, since work seems to be Spock's idea of rest," he added, back to cajoling once again.

Kirk opened his mouth to protest, to argue, to interject a counterpoint, but McCoy would have none of it. "Forget it, Jim. It's all settled. I suggest you two start packing. See you at 12:00 in the transporter room." McCoy stood and turned to leave, the Captain and First Officer sharing a commiserating look, resigned to their fate, as the mess doors closed on the retreating blue back.

***

The three of them arrived on Triani at 18:00 local time – a full day spanning only twenty-one hours. They rented a flitter at the spaceport, and with their destination pre-programmed in, Kirk and McCoy settled back to enjoy the hour-long trip to their temporary home, Spock opting to monitor the air car's course. McCoy had reserved a beachfront house on Marena Island, which was located two-thirds of the way down a hundred kilometer archipelago of islands off the east coast of Rinba, the planet's largest continent. Some were inhabited, some set aside just for tourists, some showcasing the planet's unique wildlife and historical sites, others completely barren. The sun had set several hours ago, greatly inhibiting their ability to see the beautiful landscape below given the weak illumination cast by the crescent moon.

Upon reaching their destination they quickly unpacked, briefly exploring their bungalow before enjoying a light meal. It had three separate bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. There was also a small, fully equipped kitchen complete with both a stove and a food synthesizer and a large porch overlooking the beach with a rugged staircase descending to the sand below.

Their late supper finished, Kirk rose from the table, irresistibly drawn to the ocean vista visible just beyond the massive glass wall leading to the balcony. It was equipped with a variable tinting feature; at the touch of a button the sunlight pouring in could be toned down degree by degree, or completely blocked out. Thumbing a switch, the nearly invisible door swung open, granting him access to the outside. The captain stepped onto the plasticine polymer decking, followed closely by the other two. McCoy pressed a glass into Kirk's hand.

"You know Bones, at first I was a little ticked off, but this is really nice," the captain commented, inhaling deeply. Sipping at his brandy, he placed one hand on the railing, leaning forward slightly, gazing out at the beach bathed in the muted glow of the planet's small satellite. Even in the dim light he could detect the eight-meter-wide path running between the large, grass-covered dunes to either side, which led to the water, some thirty meters distant, the red glow from the moon slashing a narrow, shimmering trail across the surface of the inky water. The muffled rumble of waves crashing against the shore was pleasantly soothing, and the stiff, fragrant sea breeze ruffled his hair, causing the unruly lock to fall across his brow.

"See, someday you'll learn to heed the advice of your friendly, country doctor," McCoy countered amiably, settling himself comfortably in one of the high-backed rocking chairs scattered across the porch, taking a healthy swallow from his own glass. The doctor looked around for Spock, who had remained standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, strangely refraining from comment.

The doctor couldn't resist the opportunity to tease the Vulcan. "What's the matter, Spock? Cat got your tongue?"

"My tongue remains firmly attached to my hyoid bone, and has not been purloined by a small, domesticated feline," Spock responded, not missing a beat.

"Now that's more like it," McCoy replied cryptically. Kirk had turned to observe this exchange, and couldn't suppress a delighted laugh when Spock's eyebrow arched into his hairline. "Well, c'mon over and sit a spell then, both of you. I did shower this morning, you know." His attempt at humor fell flat, still not eliciting a barbed rejoinder from the Vulcan.

"Thank you, no. I am as yet unaccustomed to the briskness of the night air, and due to the shorter days here, I would prefer to retire now in order to acclimate myself to the local time," Spock answered.

"Killjoy," McCoy whispered under his breath. He turned to Kirk, visibly brightening. "How 'bout you, Jim? Now this is the life. Reminds me of the trips we took to the Georgia shore when I was little. Pristine beach, warm water, and there's nothing like the smell of the ocean at night…" he trailed off, filling his lungs, a faraway grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I think I'll pass tonight, Bones. I _am_ pretty tired, and we do have ten days here. Maybe tomorrow night," he added apologetically.

McCoy let out a sigh of frustration as the two disappeared inside. _Just what the hell did I expect? That the minute we landed they would be blubbering uncontrollably about everything that was bothering them? Get real, McCoy – this is gonna take some time. Relax. Give it a few days already, before you start to panic._ He sipped his drink, the warmth spreading slowly through him doing little to calm his racing thoughts – a swirling jumble of conflicting emotions.

***

Kirk lay in bed, sweating, the nightmare that woke him still extremely vivid and absolutely terrifying. He had barely managed to stop the scream threatening to escape from the back of his throat. Gingerly he stretched out a five-fingered appendage before his face in the hazy darkness, examining it closely, and was relieved to see strong, stubby digits instead of slight, delicately-boned ones. Dragging what he now knew to be his own hand across his face, he pushed himself to a seated position.

He had heard McCoy come in about an hour ago, soft snores currently emanating sporadically from the adjacent room. Swinging his legs to the floor he lurched to the fresher, splashing his face with cold water, pausing a moment to lean on his arms on the counter, head hung low, struggling to get his irregular breathing under control. After a few minutes he stepped back into the bedroom, eyeing the bed warily. Knowing he couldn't bring himself to lay back down just yet, he shrugged on shorts and a sweatshirt, tiptoeing softly out of his room. He knew the doctor was a fairly sound sleeper, but Spock had the ears of an Arcturian Sand Bat, both literally and figuratively, and he didn't want to disturb his First.

Padding to the glass door, he opened it silently and slipped out onto the porch once again. Crossing to the stairs, he descended to the beach, traveling several meters from the foot of the staircase, reveling in the feel of the cool sand on his bare feet. The insignificant light emanating from the waxing crescent moon wasn't enough to completely block out the stars and after a moment of gazing upward, Kirk stretched out on his back, head pillowed in his hands, staring at the night sky.

Viewing the stars had always had a calming effect on him, and he needed it desperately tonight. In the throes of his recurring nightmare he had found himself a prisoner in an alien body, the proportions all wrong, his center of gravity much lower. The time he had spent trapped in Janice Lester's body had been horrific, only Spock's resolve and unflappable belief in him keeping the switch from being permanent. This event had shaken him more than he'd admitted to either one of his friends, and that, coupled with almost losing Spock on Uriman V a few weeks later, had almost been too much to bear.

After half an hour his breathing had slowed to normal, the blood that had pounded in his ears now reduced to a quiet thrum, his roiling gut considerably calmer. Getting to his feet, he brushed the sand from his back, returning to the beach house and hopefully, to a dreamless sleep.

***

Spock had heard agitated muttering and harsh, labored breathing from his captain's room, followed several minutes later by the door being opened, the sound of Kirk's muffled footsteps across the hardwood floor echoing hollowly in his head. His captain had opened the see-through door, retreating to the porch. Spock had often heard similar sounds coming from his captain's quarters aboard the ship during the early hours of the morning for the last few weeks. It was no easier to endure now than it had been then. After waiting a discretionary amount of time he had gone to investigate. His captain was outside, standing in the sand several meters beyond the bottom of the stairs, face upturned to the Trianian night sky. He watched as Kirk shrugged, seemingly gathering himself, and then lay down in the sand. Jim was distressed; that much he knew from the link, which had pulled him from the deeper levels of meditation in spite of his recent efforts to severely limit the mental contact between them. He wanted to go to his captain, offer whatever consolation and support Jim needed from him, but Kirk's body language, as well as his refusal to mention these incidents to Spock, cried out for privacy, and the Vulcan was reluctant to violate that tacit wish. Watching Kirk for an indiscriminate amount of time through the glass, torn by indecision, he finally withdrew to the solitude of his room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When McCoy and Kirk surfaced the following morning, Spock was nowhere to be found. There was a fresh pot of coffee waiting for them, however. Kirk retreated to the porch overlooking the beach, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of his First Officer. He spotted the man, kneeling on top of a sand dune to the left of their path to the water, fingers steepled together, facing into the rising sun as the light sparkled and refracted into the facets of what appeared to be thousands of tiny diamonds reflecting off the gently cresting waves.

McCoy emerged momentarily, a large mug in each hand. "Here, Jim," his CMO intoned, handing him a cup of the aromatic brew and settling into one of the rocking chairs on the porch. Kirk quickly followed suit, continuing to gaze at the still form of his XO.

The two sat enjoying the post-dawn stillness for several long minutes, the captain being the first to disturb the morning calm. "How is he, Bones?" Kirk asked, his feet propped up on the railing, the warm, steaming mug cradled in his lap, his eyes never leaving his First's form.

"Physically or mentally?" McCoy asked, and Kirk could feel the intensity of his CMO's gaze.

"Both. Either. Does it really matter?"

McCoy's look was uncertain. "I don't know which was harder on him – having his body broken on Uriman V or having his spirit broken by the Platonians. Medically, he's recovered completely from his near-drowning, but the last year or so has been hard on him emotionally, although the stubborn, pig-headed hobgoblin would never admit it. Frankly Jim, when dealing with his emotional well-being, I'd say that's more your area of expertise."

Startled, Kirk snapped his head to McCoy; those perceptive words had struck a chord he'd just as soon keep from registering on his face. There was no question; McCoy was a keen judge of character, especially where his CO and XO were concerned.

The doctor's eyes matched his voice as he started speaking again. Gently, "I suppose I'm the one who should be asking you that question." He paused briefly. "Or better yet, you're the one who should be asking Spock that question." 

The doctor sipped at his coffee before adding, "You know him – he never tells me anything except that 'Vulcans don't have feelings,' which we both know is a load of bull."

Kirk scoffed, shrugging his shoulders. "You give me more credit than I deserve. What makes you think he'd tell me?"

"Well, for starters, he's certainly been more forthright with you about a number of things than he's ever been with me."

Jim's thoughts traveled to the Pon Farr, just as he knew McCoy's had, his stomach clenching involuntarily at the memory. They had come so close to losing Spock then, Kirk's obstinance and force of will the only thing standing between the Vulcan and certain death. It wasn't until days later, after the immediate danger had passed, that Kirk finally allowed himself to be perturbed with his First. He had thought they had come a long way during their first year together, their friendship and trust in each other growing ever stronger, so it was like a slap in the face when Spock opted for death instead of coming to Kirk of his own volition and explaining the nature of his problem. Even though Spock had been scrupulously honest when pressed, it seemed that the Vulcan didn't trust his captain as completely as Kirk had believed.

"Not to mention," his CMO persisted, "you have a knack for getting him to do whatever it is you ask of him or to spill his guts to you about whatever it is you feel you need to know at the moment."

Kirk flushed uncomfortably, thinking of the mind meld they had shared on Uriman V. "That's only in the line of duty, Bones. In spite of what you obviously think, I don't make a habit of prying into Spock's personal affairs."

"I'm not advocating ferreting out all his dirty little secrets, Jim. However, we have both seen that despite Spock's assurances to the contrary, he often struggles with emotional issues, and frankly, his brain just isn't wired right to adequately deal with them. He's been under a lot of pressure lately and I just don't want to see him crack."

Kirk smiled inwardly. As much as he'd deny it outright, his CMO had a soft spot when it came to the reserved Vulcan. The captain wondered idly if someday he'd ever be able to get those two to acknowledge their friendship, their utmost respect for one another.

McCoy's next words landed him squarely back in the moment. "The fact that we almost lost you on Amerind, in Tholian space and to Janice Lester affected him more profoundly than he'd be willing to admit."

"Really?" Kirk remarked casually. "I hadn't noticed."

"C'mon Jim, this is _me_ you're talking to. I've been observing how you two interact for the last three years. Someone else might believe that, but not me." His trademark recalcitrance in full swing, Kirk refused to respond. McCoy proceeded bluntly. "And you're just as bad where he's concerned," the doctor commented astutely. "How about that whole drowning thing on Uriman? The fact that he almost died didn't affect you at all? Somehow managing to keep him breathing until we beamed you aboard? Strictly in the line of duty? It's clear as a bell to anyone who really knows you that something profound happened between the two of you down there." The captain's silence dragged on. "For him to have survived at all is a damn miracle, and I'm sure you had a hand in it somehow."

"It's not like that, Bones. I didn't do anything out of the ordinary, just talked him through it until we were rescued." Kirk dropped his gaze to his lap, reluctant to share intimate details of that very private moment between the two of them with the doctor, yet fully aware his CMO remained unconvinced by that explanation. McCoy's unwavering scrutiny becoming nearly unbearable, he chose to ignore it, raising the mug he had laced firmly in his fingers to his lips, sipping carefully at the hot liquid. His eyes came to rest once again on the form of his First Officer, silhouetted against the azure sky.

"Look Jim, I'm not asking you to break any confidences or anything," the doctor announced, oddly echoing Kirk's thoughts, "but I've seen this from you two before." Kirk couldn't prevent his eyes from locking with McCoy's. That man didn't miss a thing. His CMO continued, "I've watched you two – you almost lose each other, somehow resolve things, and then pull away, clam up as if you've done something wrong." McCoy stopped abruptly and he watched the doctor struggle to put his thoughts into words that would adequately convey his meaning. Taking a deep breath, the ship's surgeon began again. "All I'm saying is, if you're worried about Spock, ask him about it. Hell, he _is_ Spock, so maybe he won't say anything – maybe he'll dismiss it outright, but then again, maybe he'll confide in you if it's still bothering him. He's responded to you in the past after all, when he wouldn't tell a soul what was eating him."

The captain's shoulders slumped involuntarily as he quietly considered the doctor's point. To his mind, Spock had seemed more distant lately, beginning when they returned from Sarpeidon and increasing after Uriman V, and he was at a loss to explain the reason behind it. So much had been expressed between them in the meld that had taken place on that planet, under the most distressing circumstances, and while he thought that had brought them even closer, Spock seemed more out of reach than ever. Yes, they still spent time together, engaging in all their usual activities, but studiously avoided any further discussion of the meld they had shared, or its implications.

Ever the gifted psychiatrist, Bones had hit the nail on the head. For a man who was used to taking charge of any given situation, Kirk found himself at a total loss as to what to do in the face of this unexpected development. He felt his stomach turn over. Despite their growing rapport, there was still so much he didn't know about the Vulcan psyche. Their tentative link, which for Kirk had manifested as a warm, gentle presence in the deeper areas of his consciousness for several months now, had become almost non-existent over the past few weeks. He'd tried to follow the slender thread on more than one occasion, but each time had come up against an impenetrable barrier blocking his path to Spock's mind. Had he somehow inadvertently done something to unnerve Spock, violated some Vulcan taboo he was unaware of? He realized suddenly that McCoy was still speaking.

"Now that Spock's better, it's really none of my business what happened between you two, so long as it worked. However, it _is_ my business to oversee the smooth functioning of the _Enterprise's _command team. I'm just trying to do my job and—"

"Back off, Bones," he interrupted hotly. We're fine." …_I think, _he added silently.

***

He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, the salt air crisp and pungent in his nostrils, the fine, temperate sand molding comfortably to his bent legs. It should be the ideal place to meditate, but the deeper levels of concentration were eluding him. His mind kept returning to the meld he had shared with his captain, and the ensuing conversation he had had with him afterward in sickbay.

He had touched Kirk's mind before this – several times in the line of duty and on two other occasions of a more personal nature – but none had been as deep, had allowed for so much to be expressed by both of them, as the one they had shared on Uriman V.

He was becoming emotionally attached to, emotionally dependent on his captain, each time Kirk's life was at risk affecting him more deeply than the last. His cheeks burned with shame. All his life, he had been taught to forego such things, strong bonds of affection permitted only within the family. Vulcans prided themselves on their independence, their ability to be individuals, to make decisions for themselves, to be self-reliant, their actions driven by logic, unaffected by the perceptions of those around them.

There was a tentative bond forming between the two, reminiscent of the ancient bond of t'hy'la, warrior brothers, shield mates. It was a bond Spock was not actively encouraging or attempting to establish, and yet it was solidifying, growing stronger with each passing day nonetheless, much to his dismay.

After Babel, his father had warned him of this: "It was not logical, Spock, for your captain to have risked everything in an effort to preserve my life, therefore he must have done so due to a personal, emotional attachment to you. It was fortunate that all was not lost, that all the ambassadors and dignitaries were not killed, this ship destroyed, but this clearly demonstrates the risks of acting on feelings as opposed to logic. This epitomizes the reason our people have learned to understand the significance of placing logic above such things. While he may have done so to save face with you, there was so much more at stake. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. You would do well to remember this."

His cheeks had flushed with embarrassment and shame then as well. There was no logical argument he could put forth explaining his captain's actions. To try to rationalize an irrational decision would only have made him, made Jim, appear desperate in Sarek's eyes, so he had chosen to say nothing, all the while knowing that his father was absolutely right. And yet, at that time, he had refused to acknowledge that their friendship could potentially be dangerous, destructive to those around them. However, his single-minded effort to retrieve Kirk during the Tholian incident only served to reinforce his father's point. It didn't matter that they had been able to safely recover the captain. He had put the ship and the lives of the crew in jeopardy in his effort to do so. "The ends do not justify the means, my son," his father would have admonished. And he would have been right.

Ever since completing his kahs-wan, he had not actively sought out the approval of others. He had learned at an early age that that was counterproductive. He had even eschewed the acceptance of his father, joining Starfleet despite Sarek's strident wishes to the contrary, all the while knowing it would cause a rift between him and his father, and cause his mother much anguish and heartache as she watched the rift widen between the two men in her life, to become an almost insurmountable obstacle.

Yet inexplicably, Kirk's approval was of paramount importance to him. It differed drastically from his relationship with Captain Pike. He had wanted to please that man, as a subordinate strives for excellence in order to please a superior, but nothing more. With Jim, it was altogether different: he wanted Kirk's personal, as well as professional approval. He quietly cultivated his captain's friendship, sought his approbation, and would do whatever was asked of him in order to preclude disappointing that singular, dynamic personality. As much as Spock had succeeded in preventing emotional entanglements in his life up till now, he welcomed this one, much to his chagrin.

Even Jim had said it, during their conversation after his near-drowning: "I'm not looking to change you, to make you more human. I want to celebrate the unique being that is my friend Spock." And yet he was changing, but was it so wrong? It was undeniable that they worked well together as a team, much of that due to the growing rapport between them that often allowed them to communicate without words; to anticipate each others' thoughts, each others' moves. Undoubtedly this ability had saved both their lives on several occasions. Was it also not logical to use whatever gifts one was given to overcome adversity? Was this not the major tenet of IDIC? Would it not be logical to use this personal affinity, that made them each stronger together than they were separately, to their advantage?

He permitted himself a small sigh. This train of thought was going nowhere, impeding his ability to attain the higher levels of meditation. One moment he was deeply disturbed by this _thing_ that was happening between them, the next, elated. Conflicted. This seemed to be his lot in life; to be neither wholly one nor the other, at home nowhere, accepted completely by none, lost somewhere in between, always searching, striving to find his proper place in the universe. And it seemed to him that despite the teachings of his youth, that place was at Jim Kirk's side, at least at this point in time. _ You, you belong at his side as if you've always been there and always will be. _ Of all the beings in the universe, Jim Kirk was the only one who accepted him for who he was, without projecting his own expectations on that acceptance.

Knowing that his inability to focus would persist, that effective meditation as not within his grasp this morning he rose to his feet, making his way back to the small cottage.

***

As he approached, he could see that his captain and the CMO were engaged in a heated discussion which ended abruptly as he came within earshot of the two. Kirk favored him with a warm smile as he reached the top of the stairs.

"Did you sleep well, Mr. Spock? You look refreshed this morning."

"Yes, thank you, Captain. The accommodations are most satisfactory." He turned to McCoy. "My compliments Doctor, on your choice of location. Did you gentlemen also have a restful night?" he asked, his gaze lingering on Kirk as he recalled the captain's hasty retreat to the beach during the early hours of the morning.

"I for one, slept like a rock," McCoy chimed in, "and this salt air is making me so hungry I could eat a Rigellian ox. I think I'll go see if I can rustle us up some grub for breakfast," he finished, getting to his feet and heading for the door.

"And you, Captain? Was your rest also restorative?"

Kirk averted his eyes before answering, choosing instead to scan the horizon. "I slept better than I have in the past few weeks," he answered evasively.

Spock could sense no deception from his captain, and it pained him greatly to think last night had been one of Kirk's better nights. He found himself silently thanking McCoy for insisting upon this shore leave.

"C'mon Spock, have a seat," Kirk said lightly, gesturing to the chair McCoy had vacated. "It's really a spectacular view."

Spock seated himself beside his captain, unsure of what to say. The two sat in silence for a few minutes, watching a flock of native Quammeril, the large, colorful sea birds engaged in an intricate, eye-catching aerial ballet as they twisted and dove among the waves, plucking fish from the sparkling blue water.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye at his captain, he felt a swell of protectiveness. The man had had to bear more than anyone should during the last year. Sometimes, unbeknownst to his captain, Jim's pain and anguish bled through their weak link despite the Vulcan's best efforts to prevent it, only adding to Spock's distress. He longed to discuss these episodes with his friend, to provide what assistance he could, but Kirk had seemed distant recently, despite the feelings and revelations they had shared after the events on Uriman V, reluctant to discuss anything but ship's business with his First.

Spock's attention snapped to the fore as Kirk began speaking.

"You know, as nice as this is, I've concluded that I'm really irritated with McCoy – how dare he decide that the repairs could be carried out smoothly without us. That's my ship – I should be there to oversee things. At times, he just takes this whole CMO thing a bit too far." His tone was forbidding, brooding.

"Mister Scott is more than qualified to ensure that the repairs are executed properly, and in his own overbearing, brusque manner, the good doctor was just trying to be helpful, Jim," Spock responded softly.

"Since when have you started defending him?" Quizzical hazel eyes met his.

"The doctor is correct in his observation that you require rest, Jim. I am merely in agreement with his reasoning."

"Et tu, Spock?" He smiled thinly at his First.

Spock was fraught with confusion. "I can assure you I am not working against you, Jim, quite the contrary. This brief respite will afford you the time you need to reenergize. It should prove most beneficial."

"Funny, because that sounds like the same argument McCoy used with me when trying to convince me that you were the one who needed a break." Kirk's expression became dour. "It seems we've both been had. You know, sometimes that man frustrates the hell out of me."

"And yet you still consider him to be a friend," Spock remarked, the inconsistency of that inexplicable mix of human emotions completely baffling to the logical Vulcan.

"Weird how that works, huh?" Kirk commented wryly. "Just another one of our strange, human idiosyncrasies. We can be fond of and irritated by someone at the same time. And right now, I'm more than a little irritated." This last said with more intensity than Kirk intended.

Spock glanced at his captain. There was certainly more behind that statement than being forced to take leave against his will. One look at Kirk's tight-lipped countenance, however, and Spock realized the matter was not open for discussion. He took the conversation in a different direction.

"Had the Vians been successful in their attempt to deprive the Doctor of his life, it would have affected you profoundly, Jim."

"And I suppose it would have had no effect on you whatsoever?" Kirk countered, amusement, coupled with a touch of annoyance creeping into his tone.

Spock pondered that question for several long moments. "Yes, it would have deprived me of a most gifted verbal sparring partner." He turned what he thought were expressionless eyes on his captain, but watched helplessly as a knowing grin spread slowly over Jim's face.

"I suspect it would have meant just as much to you as it would have to me," Kirk replied enigmatically, the irritation evaporating, to be replaced with genuine affection. Spock chose not to answer, not wanting to give more away to this man who could read him as easily as a blind man deciphered the bumps and dashes of Braille.

At that moment, the object of their discussion poked his head out the door. "You two coming in, or do I have to eat all these flapjacks myself?"

"You don't have to tell me twice, I'm starved," Kirk said, getting swiftly to his feet. Spock followed suit, trailing behind his captain.

McCoy had the table set, a fresh pot of coffee in the center, a steaming mug of tea beside Spock's plate. A large bowl of fresh fruit was available, and there were several pitchers of juice, both Terran and Vulcan, a small platter of sausage links and of course, an ample stack of pancakes with all the trimmings.

"Gosh Bones, I'm impressed," Kirk said, glancing at the table approvingly.

"Well before you get too excited, I have to confess it's all synthesized. We'll have to go out sometime today and stock up on some supplies. I, for one, don't want to eat fake food if I don't have to. The local seafood is supposed to be outstanding, and while Spock of course won't eat any of the marine animal life, Triani Prime boasts a wide variety of edible salt water plants that should be right up his alley."

"You really put a lot of thought into this leave, didn't you Bones?" Kirk said, and Spock saw him blush slightly, no doubt due to the complaints he had lodged against the doctor a few minutes before on the porch. "Thank you for this," the captain added sincerely, locking eyes briefly with his CMO before seating himself at the table and starting to fill his plate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Knowing Spock would have found fishing unnecessarily cruel, even if they released their catch, they decided instead to spend their first day examining the Essirian Marine Mammal Preserve, located about ten kilometers south of their beach house. A short trip by flitter brought them to the animal sanctuary. Once there, they rented a small skiff in order to go Tasarti watching, opting out of joining a pre-arranged tour with a large group of other off-worlders. The Trianian marine mammals most closely resembled a cross between Terran dolphins and the American Manatee. While stringent conservation programs during Earth's 22nd century had vastly increased the number of dolphins worldwide, the Manatee, quiet, gentle giants, once plentiful in the warm waters off the southern coast of the United States, had been extinct on Earth for over one hundred and fifty years.

They planned to spend the better part of the morning and early afternoon on the water searching for the shy, elusive animals. McCoy volunteered to operate the tiller, letting Jim and Spock paddle the boat out to sea. Powered locomotion of any kind was expressly forbidden within a three kilometer radius of the Tasarti's habitat due to the danger it presented to the native animals. The two settled into a steady rhythm, the shoreline always visible in the distance off the starboard side, Kirk pausing briefly to peel off his shirt, the exertion causing him to sweat profusely under the intense glare of the native sun.

"Jim, don't forget to put sunblock on, the UV radiation here is a lot stronger than you're used to," McCoy admonished, ever the cautious medical man, tossing Kirk a can of Protecto Film. "This shore leave won't be much fun if you spend the majority of it burnt to a crisp."

"Yes, mother," Kirk quipped, but cast a grin over his shoulder at the doctor as he sprayed the gooey substance liberally over his back and chest. In a few minutes it dried to a breathable, pliable, slightly shiny film which would provide 100% protection from the damaging rays and could be peeled off like a layer of skin once he was out of the sun.

After half an hour of rowing parallel to the coast they reached their goal – a smattering of about a dozen small, uninhabited islands – a disorderly group of tall, thin spires jutting up indiscriminately from the sea floor. Like stone behemoths these giant monoliths, breathtaking in their unspoiled beauty, were scattered among the waves, rocky at the base, luxuriantly green above, evocative of giant, misshapen boulders covered in spiky, colorful lichens, their height much greater than their girth. Millennia of pounding surf had undercut their foundations, making them appear to hover above the surface of the water.

In a sheltered area between these geologic oddities they came across a family group consisting of three females with their seven young calves. The _Enterprise _men observed them in silence for quite a while, not wishing to disturb the harmony of the extended social unit.

The Tasarti had the dorsal fins and thin, elongated snouts of Terran dolphins, with the pudgy, round body of the Manatee. The soft, glossy, deep blue skin of the adults was mottled with numerous small, muted yellow dots, while the calves were a dull grayish green in color, their appearance gradually changing to match that of the adults as they grew.

As the three continued to watch, mesmerized, the calves started cavorting and chasing one another, bobbing and diving playfully among the low waves and darting in and out of the large, plentiful fronds of underwater vegetation swaying gently with the current – the marine equivalent of hide-and-seek.

Jim, unable to contain his enthusiasm, rose rapidly to his feet, gesturing with boyish excitement at the frolicking sea mammals. "Look at them. They're absolutely incredible." A sudden, strong gust of wind hit them broadside at that moment, throwing the captain off kilter. Kirk fought to keep his balance, arms pinwheeling furiously in an attempt to compensate. Spock was behind him instantly, but his hands slipped off his captain's shoulder, slick from the UV film Kirk had applied earlier. In a last ditch effort Spock did manage to seize the waistband of his captain's shorts in a desperate bid to keep him from falling in. However, the rapid movements of the Vulcan only succeeded in further upsetting Kirk's already compromised balance and he tumbled toward the water, dragging Spock, who still had a firm grasp on his captain's pants, in with him.

Kirk turned it into a dive, but Spock had no chance at finesse, his innate agility compromised, the side of his upper torso and face smacking the water hard, kicking up a surprisingly large splash for so thin an individual. The deafening sound of the two impacting the surface thundered across the open water, causing the small group of timid mammals to flee amid a flurry of tails, flippers and a considerable spray of temperate water. The two men spluttered to the surface, howls of laughter from McCoy ringing in their ears.

"Ha, ha, that was _priceless,_ Jim," he guffawed, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands and then pressing them to his spasming stomach. "If you could've seen your face, or Spock's…" he dissolved into another fit of breathless snickering.

Kirk glanced conspiratorially at the Vulcan, an evil smile stealing over his features. "Spock, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Undoubtedly."

McCoy stopped laughing abruptly, his gaze traveling nervously between the two. They were ignoring him; their eyes locked and McCoy could almost feel the sizzle of their silent communication.

"Jim…," he started anxiously, desperation creeping into his tone, all trace of his earlier humor gone. "Spock…" The panic was now audible, yet neither of his friends were paying any attention to him, leaving McCoy as merely a spectator to an as yet undetermined fate. "Now wait just a damn minute! You wouldn't dare—"

In unison, they grasped the side of the boat, tipping it toward them, spilling McCoy into the warm, salty water as well.

"Hey, what was that for?" McCoy gasped, surfacing and shaking the water from his eyes. "It's not like I pushed either of you in or anything!"

"Sauce for the goose, Doctor."

"I'll show you _sauce for the goose_," he retorted, playfully dunking Kirk's head under water. Kirk used the momentum to get below McCoy, tugging on an ankle, dragging the doctor down with him before making his subsurface getaway.

_Good_, thought McCoy as he resurfaced, _this is just what they need to help them relax a little._ He glanced around, looking for Spock, but the Vulcan already had a leg over the side of the boat and was rolling himself back in. Despite what had happened on Uriman, McCoy knew Spock was a very capable swimmer – he'd even seen the First Officer dive, fully clothed, into the _Enterprise's _pool to rescue a crewman in distress – but the man was like a cat – just because he _could _swim didn't necessarily mean he _liked _to swim. The doctor suspected it had a lot to do with Spock's desert upbringing; on a planet where water was a precious commodity, as valuable to Vulcans as rare gems were to humans, he didn't envision there being a large number of pools designed for recreational use.

He set off after Jim once again, who had popped his head above the low waves and was checking to see if he was being pursued. McCoy knew he had no chance to catch the captain, but was willing to play this little game nonetheless. Anything to help them unwind, slip out of the chains of duty, of responsibility for a short time.

Kirk was making for the opposite side of their little skiff, his strong, freestyle strokes enabling him to easily put the boat between him and the doctor. Seeing that McCoy was still a good distance behind him, he spared a glance around, searching for Spock. He discovered that his First was already back in the boat, tugging his wet shirt over his head. "Spock, if you need something dry to wear, my shirt should still be in the boat," he called, treading water, one eye on the Vulcan and one on the doctor, who was preparing to round the stern at a leisurely pace, doing an odd, somewhat spastic version of the breast stroke.

Spock gingerly picked up the captain's rumpled tee shirt between a thumb and forefinger, holding it at arm's length, the sweat stains plainly visible. "Thank you, no Jim," he commented laconically, turning the garment back and forth slowly to allow for a more thorough inspection of the item. "I shall be quite content to wait for my own apparel to dry," he added wryly, an eyebrow on the rise, that almost-smile playing briefly over his lips.

Kirk threw his head back, a deep belly laugh erupting from his throat, and McCoy traded a knowing glance with Spock. The Vulcan had realized, too, that Jim was thoroughly enjoying this bit of light-hearted fun, the dark eyes expressing Spock's approval. McCoy continued his pursuit of the captain, splashing him in mock disparagement when he got close enough. Kirk ducked under the waves again, several powerful kicks and long strokes of his arms propelling him away from the doctor and the small skiff.

"Well don't just stand there Spock, help me in," the doctor said gruffly, coming alongside the boat and stretching a hand up to the Vulcan. "Jim might like playing dolphin, but it's certainly not my idea of a good time." Spock surreptitiously looked around for his captain, who had surfaced and was watching the exchange with interest.

Spock reached down, firmly grasping McCoy's arm, lifting him bodily out of the water. The doctor flailed wildly with his free arm, managing to catch the side of the little skiff, trying to help Spock pull him in. As his torso cleared the water his wrist slipped from the Vulcan's grasp causing him to pitch forward, his head and upper body inside the boat, his legs still dangling over the side, thrashing and kicking violently in an effort to give him the final boost necessary to climb in.

Spock was struggling to regain his balance, the sudden loss of McCoy's weight shifting his center of gravity. Righting himself, he watched McCoy's predicament with more than a little amusement as the ship's surgeon tried desperately to get the lower half of his body to join the upper half in the boat.

Allowing McCoy to continue unaided for several long seconds, seeing that Kirk was still transfixed by the scene that was unfolding, he finally took pity on the CMO. Kneeling beside him and grasping a shoulder and one of the flailing legs, Spock managed to drag the sopping form the rest of the way into the boat, McCoy's face impacting the hard bottom squarely before he was able to catch himself.

"Thanks, Spock," he quipped acidly, his tone dripping with sarcasm, pushing himself into an upright position, "that was just perfect. Couldn't have asked for a smoother entry," he added, but the twinkle visible in his eyes let Spock know the acerbity of that statement was for Jim's benefit. Kirk's laughter floated easily across the water to them.

"Somehow gentlemen, that didn't look anything like the way they taught us to do it at the Academy. Perhaps I need to send you two for some remedial training," Kirk commented, still treading water a good ten meters from the boat.

"Oh yeah?" McCoy groused, having regained his seat in the stern. "You think it's so easy? Let's see you do it better, _captain."_

Kirk, never one to refuse a challenge, made for the boat immediately. "Just to show you how easy it is, I'll do it without Spock's help," he added, grasping the side with both hands and hooking a foot over the edge, his leg fully extended. Using his arms to support his weight and his foot for balance, he managed to expertly roll himself back into the boat. "See? Piece of cake, Bones," he said, extremely pleased with himself, a boyish, self-satisfied grin plastered on his face.

"I guess that's why they pay you the big bucks," McCoy responded dourly. "But you know, it's a lot less difficult when there are already several people in the boat, acting as ballast to keep it from rolling. I think Spock wins the prize on this one."

Kirk cast a glance at his First, whose only response to this observation was to raise an eyebrow, his visage totally impassive. Upon closer inspection, Kirk realized the Vulcan's chest was not shiny in the least. He turned his attention to his CMO once again. "Aren't you going to yell at Spock? Make sure he applies adequate sunscreen?" He asked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the tall Vulcan.

"Captain, Eridani is a much hotter sun than Sol," Spock interjected before McCoy could answer. "Therefore Vulcan skin is uniquely adapted to strong sunlight and the harsh UV waves emitted by the Trianian sun will in no way be damaging to my epidermis," he explained patiently.

"Showoff," Kirk teased, a grin splitting his features.

Spock's look transformed instantly from one of impassivity to uncertainty, and Kirk dissolved into another fit of hearty laughter.

"Let's go home, gentlemen. I'm famished, and I think we've managed to scare off the Tasarti for good." He retrieved his paddle from the floor of the skiff, dipping it into the crystal blue water.

***

McCoy emerged from his room, his hair still damp from his shower. He could see the remnants of Kirk's hastily prepared lunch on the dining room table. Spock was seated in one of the overstuffed chairs near the windows, his eyes trained on the sofa, and McCoy walked over only to discover that Jim had fallen into an exhausted sleep on the couch, stretched out flat on his back, an arm thrown haphazardly above his head, the other hand resting on his chest.

"Who'd a thought we'd manage to tire him out during the first half of our first day here?" McCoy commented softly, coming to stand beside Spock's chair.

Spock's mind drifted to Kirk's nightmare induced insomnia of the previous night, and he quietly admonished the doctor. "Your intention behind this mandatory leave was to compel the captain to rest. You have succeeded. I do not understand why you are dissatisfied with that result. It is unprecedented for Jim to sleep during the day," Spock replied sincerely in hushed tones.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Spock, it was a joke," McCoy groused, a bit louder than he intended, and Kirk shifted restlessly on the couch. "I honestly thought you 'got it' during our time on Beta Arcida IV."

Spock was instantly on his feet, grasping the doctor by an elbow and pulling him away from the sleeping form. "My sense of humor, or lack thereof, is not the paramount issue. The captain is in need of rest; we would be wise not to disturb it." He had managed to move McCoy away from the couch, steering him toward the dining room table.

"Jeez, Spock, let go, will ya?" McCoy said, jerking his arm from the Vulcan's grasp. "I have no intention of waking Jim up," he finished in a huff, plunking himself down into one of the chairs surrounding the table.

"Then you would be best served to lower your voice," Spock retorted, exasperation coloring his words slightly. He slipped into the vacant seat next to the doctor. "Perhaps we should undertake an excursion to procure the supplies necessary to facilitate our stay here."

McCoy's look bordered on annoyance. "For crying out loud, Spock. Why the hell do you always have to be so technical?" His question was met with a perplexed expression, eyebrow on the rise. "If I understood that gibberish correctly, you're suggesting that we go get groceries," the doctor asked, summoning up a patience he definitely didn't feel.

"I thought I expressed that in a clear, concise manner," Spock responded, nonplussed.

McCoy let out a frustrated breath. "Clear and concise are two adjectives that I certainly wouldn't apply to your bizarre speech pattern, but I'm game for going to get food," he replied, a sigh of resignation escaping pursed lips.

"We are in agreement then."

After briefly consulting the tourist guide accessed via their portable reader and hurriedly scribbling a note for Jim, they headed for their rented air car, Spock darkening the huge bank of windows by several degrees and covering his captain with a thin blanket before departing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

According to the information they had found, the best place to purchase fresh seafood was on the coast of the mainland, a twenty minute trip by flitter. In addition, the Alkonost Market boasted not only the best bounty from the Trianian sea, but offered a wide variety of local fruits and vegetables as well, and even had a few booths containing some of the more exotic delicacies from distant worlds. They should be able to find everything they needed in that one location.

As they flew over the archipelago, both men were struck by the incredible sight. Last time they had made the trip at night, and were unable to fully appreciate the splendor of the Trianian landscape. Now they could easily see the island chain, sprouting like oversized mushrooms from the multi-colored water, a kaleidoscope of blue tones ranging from pale turquoise to ultramarine. The white sand on the ocean floor acted like a backdrop serving to showcase the natural wonders visible just under the surface. They were able to pick out substantial coral formations, lush beds of underwater vegetation and large schools of colorful native fish interspersed with the verdant dots of the tropical islands.

"This view is really stunning Spock," McCoy commented, clearly in awe of the spectacle below them. "Too bad Jim's missing this – he'd really enjoy it."

"This is only our first day here Doctor. During the course of our stay there will be ample opportunities for Jim to experience the numerous marvels of nature presented by this planet."

"Well, that's just what the doctor ordered. Jim's been through a lot lately, and we both know self-preservation is certainly not his strong suit. He just doesn't get it that he's not omnipotent, and needs to take it easy once in a while." Spock felt the doctor's eyes on him – searching, questioning – and he was in complete agreement with McCoy's assessment. He kept his voice steady, despite the feelings those words evoked.

"I agree. The captain has not been operating at peak efficiency of late; this leave should serve to afford him the time necessary to recuperate from the pressures of recent months."

"Personally, I think that whole Janice Lester thing hit him a lot harder than he's willing to admit." Again the questioning eyes.

Spock recalled the meld he had shared with the captain while Kirk was trapped in the scientist's body. In addition to instantly recognizing that this unfamiliar female form did indeed house the mind of James Kirk, he had also sensed Jim's unease, the barely contained panic as comprehension quickly dawned for both of them regarding the seriousness of the situation and its implications should they be unable to reverse the process.

It occurred to him that McCoy was fishing for information. So, Jim had not discussed the matter with his CMO, either. He also suspected that the captain's recent insomnia was attributable to that particular incident. Even though he knew the doctor was concerned as well and only wished to help, he found he was reluctant to break Jim's confidence especially since it had not been shared intentionally. Taking all of this into account, he formulated an answer.

"The captain is a resilient individual, both mentally and physically. I am confident that he has put the incident behind him."

Realizing immediately that this was a dismissal – that Spock would not be supplying any additional details regarding this event, McCoy changed the subject. "The two-year anniversary of his brother's death is next month. Last year he holed up in his cabin for two days, on the pretense of catching up on crew fitness reports by the way – and we both know how much he hates doing those – and I never did get a chance to talk to him about it. I know it was hard on him when it happened, but there was so much other stuff going on when Sam and Aurelan died that he never had time to come to grips with the loss. Damn if he doesn't try to act like it didn't really affect him all that much, but we both know him better than that. Maybe this year we should see if we can get him to open up about it. If you ask me, I think he needs the closure."

Spock silently complimented the doctor on his insight. He also believed that Jim had not dealt fully with this incident, and had been planning all along to try and coax his captain to talk about it, perhaps helping to assuage some of the grief and remorse Spock knew his captain still harbored over the loss.

Spock remembered how the loss of Sybok had been most difficult for him at the time. Granted, his brother was not dead, and he had been much younger than Jim, but his captain had also had many more years with Sam. On those rare occasions where Kirk had spoken to Spock about Sam it had been quite clear that his captain was slightly in awe of his older brother, making Jim's loss all the more poignant.

This also caused an unexpected pang of guilt as Spock came to understand that he now thought of Jim as his brother, his memories of Sybok distant and fleeting and clouded by a child's eyes. In the three years Jim had been a major part of his life he had shared many more life-altering experiences with his captain than he had ever done with his half-brother. It was these ties of camaraderie, of duty, of a common purpose, that served to bring about and reinforce their bond of friendship.

"I concur. Jim needs to adequately come to terms with his brother's death and it would be beneficial to his overall well-being if we could facilitate this in some manner. However, you know as well as I do that it can be challenging to get the captain to...discuss freely…those issues which are troubling him; those things he views as strictly of a personal nature. He can be quite adamant in this regard."

"Well, then we need to be more adamant," McCoy countered forcefully. "You know, Spock, sometimes what humans think they want and what they actually need are often two different things," the doctor observed sagely. "And we both know this is especially true with Jim. When it comes to his personal welfare, that man wouldn't know what he needed if it smacked him upside the head."

"Agreed. But we must exercise caution. Jim tends to 'bristle' when confronted."

"Well, then we'll just have to make him see reason. I think between the two of us we can manage that," McCoy declared with confidence.

Spock turned away abruptly, his attention focused on the controls in front of him. They had reached their destination.

As they approached, McCoy whistled at the sheer size of the alien structure. "That's huge – it must sit on close to three hectares." Parking the flitter, they headed for one of the many entrances, picking up an anti-grav cart before entering.

The natives of this planet, regardless of sex, stood about 1.5 meters tall. Due to the tropical climate, their skin was the color of perfectly creamed coffee, topped off by a shock of stark white hair. Both males and females tended to wear their hair at shoulder length, soft, wispy bangs framing their faces. Since Trianian females typically expressed no mammary development except when actively nursing, and males rarely had facial hair, both sexes were remarkably androgynous, off-worlders often having difficulty distinguishing between them. In areas such as this where the tourist traffic was particularly high, females had taken to wearing brightly colored, intricately beaded headbands as a way to set them apart from their male counterparts.

Large signs hanging from the overhead beams indicated what items were located in which sections of the sprawling complex. Briefly surveying their surroundings, McCoy finally headed for the area selling fresh seafood, settling first on a large stall which offered a variety of Trianian fish, shellfish, and marine plants. The person behind the counter was female, as evidenced by the burgundy and aquamarine adornment in her hair.

As the two approached, McCoy elbowed the Vulcan in the ribs. "Let me do the talking, Spock – everything here is done on the barter system, and I can't believe you'd be good at it. You have to be able to schmooze."

"'Schmooze,' Doctor?"

"Never mind." McCoy dismissed Spock's skeptical look with the wave of a hand. "Suffice it to say, it's certainly not your cup of tea."

"On the contrary, Doctor, we Vulcans are renowned for our 'poker faces.' Perhaps that would serve our ends best."

"You're just too vanilla, Spock – too bland, no excitement. You don't know how to titillate the ladies. Just watch the master work his Southern gentlemanly charm."

They stopped in front of the large stall and were met with a wide, toothy grin from the girl behind the counter. As the two of them were not in uniform, and the average Federation citizen did not have a Universal Translator implant, she began speaking to them in broken Standard.

"Greetings gentlemen fine. I am named Durabi. Is there something which here delights your interest?" Her voice was high-pitched, musical, like that of a Terran child.

Spock opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced with a caustic look from McCoy. Turning to the diminutive shopkeeper, the doctor smiled widely in return. "Yes, thank you, my dear. There is something other than your pretty face which has caught my eye."

Spock stifled a sigh, rolling his eyes skyward.

Unfazed, McCoy continued smoothly, "I was just wondering what that fish was over there – the one with the distinctive bright green flesh."

"Is called that P'Mackiee. Flesh is firm and sweet when cooked. Flavor is gentle, not so – how you say – fishy. And is safe to eat by humans. I did not know Vulcans ate of animal flesh, though," she remarked, turning liquid gold eyes to Spock.

"I shall not be partaking of this Trianian delicacy. However, I would be interested in sampling some of your native sea florae," he responded warmly, at least to McCoy's mind.

During this exchange, a young male had materialized from the bowels of the stall, coming to stand beside Durabi. She turned to him, speaking in their native tongue, "Derwalla, uwe frangel, ipobani morye trelawin? Belinye, torzhelye Wulkhanin ima rebala _kilanit'_ grotat'."

Their Universal Translators rendered the statement: "Dear brother, can you please help the older gentleman? I'd _love_ to assist the tall, handsome Vulcan."

McCoy glanced sharply at Spock. His eyebrow had crawled into his hairline, a look of utter disbelief flitting quickly over his face before his look settled into the smug I-told-you-so which he turned on the doctor.

"If you would please to follow me good sir," she said, her gaze focused solely on Spock. "We have of many kinds to choose. All are delicious, and safe to eat by Vulcans." She had started moving toward the far end of the counter, Spock following.

McCoy shot the Vulcan a dark look. Just what was it women found so fascinating about their resident 'cold fish?' Christine was certainly smitten, and that pretty little Leila had positively gushed when in Spock's presence. _Must be the ears, _he thought, their feelings totally incomprehensible to him. _Or the challenge, maybe. Women can't resist trying to reel in the uncatchable man. It's certainly not due to his warm, inviting personality._ A melodic voice, pitched an octave below his sister's, roused McCoy from his thoughts.

"I am called Ferulo. Is there a way I am to be helping you, good sir?" the young Trianian male asked earnestly.

Sparing a glance at Spock, who was engrossed in a deep conversation with Durabi at the opposite end of the stall, he turned his attention to the young salesman in front of him. "You may, young man. I'd like a kilo of P'Mackiee steak, twenty of those shellfish over there," he said, pointing to some large, pink-shelled mollusks, "and two bunches of those big, spiny crab legs."

"A wise choice," Ferulo agreed, hurrying to put together the doctor's order. "These shellfish are called Tass, and are like Earth – how you say – scallop? Best cooked when removed from shell and fried with seasonings. I can remove from them the shells if it pleases you?"

"Sure. That'd be fine."

"The other are called Sulandai and can be thrown into hot water or cooked in shell on open fire," Ferulo informed him, rapidly opening the Tass with a sharp knife. "It will please me if you enjoy our delicacies."

"I'm sure we will. And now to payment. What's the best price you can offer me for these items?"

After several minutes, quite satisfied with the deal he had struck, McCoy loaded his purchase into the anti-grav cart and made his way toward Spock and Durabi, who were in the midst of an animated discussion, the shorter girl pointing excitedly to her left. He caught the tail end of their conversation.

"—can be found at farthest end of market."

"Thank you Durabi, I shall seek them out."

"Please to enjoy your trip on our beautiful planet, Spock of Vulcan."

"Thank you, I shall," Spock answered, placing several bags into the anti-grav cart and nodding sincerely to the young native.

They strolled leisurely among the rows, finding a unique assortment of local fruits and vegetables, cheeses, and even a stall selling hot, homemade Trianian bread. In no time their cart was almost full.

"Where to now, Spock?"

"Durabi informed me that the last stall at the end of this row specializes in Earth proteins. We should be able to purchase a varied selection of Terran meats there."

"Turning carnivore on me, Spock?" McCoy commented, eyes dancing.

A slight shudder passed through the Vulcan; he quickly mastered it, turning a bland look on the doctor. "Merely a thought that perhaps we could procure some authentic Terran fare for you and the captain."

"Now that you mention it, some pork chops and steaks sound like just what the doctor ordered."

"We should also consider purchasing breakfast meats, specifically ham, bacon and sausages."

"Are you out of your Vulcan mind?! That stuff'll kill you sure as shootin'."

"I am fully aware of the health risks presented by salt-cured, oleaginous meats, but Jim does enjoy them, and he is on leave after all." Spock's look was beseeching, at least as much as his Vulcan nature would permit.

McCoy's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Okay, you win Spock. But it's _your_ responsibility to see that Jim burns off the extra fat and calories."

"That was, of course, my intention," Spock replied smoothly.

They had reached the stall in question, McCoy noting with satisfaction the wide range of available products. He was soon engaged in a long, involved transaction with the butcher, purchasing numerous choice cuts of beef, pork and poultry.

Happy with the items he had found, he turned to talk to Spock, only to discover that the Vulcan was gone. He looked around, scanning the stalls within sight, easily able to see over the heads of the shorter Trianians, but there was no sign of the tall Vulcan. He felt the irritation rising. _Where the hell is he? Just because he can't stomach meat doesn't mean he had to disappear. When I don't want him around, a tractor beam set on 'rip their outer hull off' couldn't drag him out of the area. But of course, now that I'm ready to go he chooses this moment to vanish into thin air._ Damn! Why hadn't he thought to bring his communicator? He took a few tentative steps. _What, did he find a journal on the latest version of molecular polarization cells or something?_

He set off in search of his companion, tugging the anti-grav cart behind him, when something caught his eye on a shelf behind the counter of a small stand selling off-world goods. After several minutes of intense bartering he struck a deal with the vendor, lifting the heavy bag off the low counter when he was startled by a deep voice behind him.

"Doctor, have you finished your shopping?" Spock asked, his eyes drifting to the sack in McCoy's hand.

"Jeez Spock, you scared the life outta me," he answered, flustered, quickly stuffing his prize in their anti-grav cart, away from the Vulcan's prying eyes. "Yeah, well, I'm all done. Where the hell did you go anyway?" he asked, taking in the bag Spock was holding. "Hopefully that's not full of mnemonic memory circuits," he commented skeptically.

"Merely the last of the ingredients necessary to complete a traditional dish," the Vulcan answered cryptically.

"Well, if it smells as bad as Plomeek Soup, you can count me out."

***

When they returned to their bungalow, Jim was gone.

"Where the hell is he?" McCoy grumbled. "He's not in his room, and didn't see fit to leave _us_ a note. I swear, he's like a little kid – you can't leave him alone for a second. God bless his mother."

Spock, ignoring this tirade, had moved to the window and was scanning the beach. He spotted Kirk swimming in the surf. "He is in the water, Doctor." Spock's voice had an unnatural edge to it.

"What?! Of all the stupid, dumbass things to do. Swimming alone is unsafe to begin with, but swimming alone in the ocean? That's just asking for trouble. Has he ever heard of riptides, man-eating marine life, venomous sea creatures, pounding surf? It's amazing to me that his mother is still sane – she must've had the patience of a saint when he was growing up." McCoy had started for the bank of windows, but Spock was already out the door and down the stairs, not running down the path, but moving quickly, with purpose. _That man is going to be the death of me, _McCoy thought gloomily.

***

Spock hurried along the wide swath between the dunes, his heart hammering in his side, his eyes never leaving Kirk. He worked to suppress the panic threatening to overwhelm him. As their friendship grew, strengthened by the link rising up between them, he found each instance of Kirk being in danger harder and harder to bear. Prior to leaving the _Enterprise _he had researched Trianian aquatic life, his mind conjuring up all the hidden dangers the sea presented on this planet. He was particularly concerned about the Peranuma, a type of large, sea-going scorpion which tended to hunt in the shallow water near the shore during the late afternoon hours. They were somewhat rare in these waters but were present nevertheless. While its sting was not fatal, it did cause temporary paralysis. Fish subjected to its venom would simply stop swimming and fall to the bottom where they could be devoured at leisure, but for an air breather it meant death by drowning.

Relief flooded him as he neared the water's edge. His captain was safe. Kirk was about 50 meters off shore, floating lazily on his back, his arms fluttering slowly at his sides, the gentle motion helping to keep him from sinking. Spock seated himself on the compact sand next to the towel Kirk had left there, waiting for his captain to complete his impromptu swim.

He struggled to find his center, to calm his racing heart, to slow his breathing to normal. Once again, he was wracked with shame. This was not how a Vulcan behaved. They approached things calmly, logically, stoically. He was able to achieve this Zen state in most areas of his life, but found that when Jim entered into the equation, all his years of training vanished into the ether. He was unable to be impartial where his captain was concerned.

What was wrong with him? He was behaving disgracefully. When had it happened that this one human had become more important to him than anything else in the universe?

His gaze traveled to his captain, who had finished his swim and was now wading through the breakers toward the shore. The Vulcan rose smoothly to his feet, retrieving Kirk's towel from the ground.

"Spock, what are you doing here?" Kirk asked, grinning broadly, reaching for the towel proffered by his First.

"Jim." Achingly earnest. "It is not safe to swim alone. Surely you realize this?"

Kirk's smile instantly melted away. He mopped at his face before settling his gaze squarely on the Vulcan. "I'm not three you know, and I don't need a babysitter. I can take care of myself." The hazel eyes were angry – with him.

Spock blinked. Kirk's sudden anger was an unexpected, but not unprecedented development. In sickbay after Uriman, both had expressed their desire to shield the other from harm. Apparently his captain had forgotten that. Spock was moved by an unnamed, uncontrollable force to protect his captain at all costs, and as before, Kirk wanted no part of that protection. His mind raced to find a logical reason, a logical explanation to justify his words, his actions.

"As First Officer of the _Enterprise_ it is my duty to ensure the safety of her captain; to prevent him from engaging in activities which could unnecessarily put his life at risk. Would you not concede that swimming alone in unfamiliar waters is an unnecessary risk?" Spock replied evenly, pleased with the steadiness of his voice. An arched eyebrow served to lend emphasis to his words.

As Kirk considered that statement Spock could see most of the anger disappearing along with the water droplets sopped up by the towel in Kirk's hands as he dried his arms and chest.

"Okay Spock, point taken. It's just that when I woke up you two were gone, and the water looked so damn inviting. I couldn't resist." He smiled that roguish smile; the one that always made Spock ready to agree to anything his captain asked of him.

Jim started for the house, looping the towel around his neck and pulling it tight. "So? Any luck shopping?"

"Indeed." Spock fell into step beside his captain. "We were able to locate a large market on the mainland which offered a wide variety of indigenous and non-native goods. Hopefully you will be pleased with our selections."

"I'm with Bones on this one – anything that isn't synthesized is fine in my book. They've managed to get the look of imitation food right, but the taste is another matter altogether." He sighed wistfully. "Of course knowing McCoy, it's probably all salad and health foods. Oh well, I can't have it all I guess…"

They had reached the stairs, Kirk mounting them two at a time, his bare feet leaving moist, slightly sandy footprints on the plasticine decking. Entering the house they found McCoy in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. The captain and XO stepped in to help him.

"This looks fantastic. Thanks, gentlemen. Job well done." Kirk's exuberance was contagious.

"You are welcome, Captain." This from Spock. McCoy however, remained inexplicably silent.

"Sorry Bones, hope it wasn't too much trouble," Kirk offered, grinning apologetically at the mercurial surgeon.

"No. No trouble at all, _Captain_." The doctor's tone was sharp, sarcastic. He was unloading the bags mechanically, refusing to make eye contact with his commanding officer.

Kirk was at a loss to explain it. He glanced quickly from one man to the other. "Did something happen on the trip? Something I should know about?"

"No Jim, _Spock _didn't do anything to piss me off."

"All right Bones, let's have it." Kirk's good humor had given way to exasperation.

"Have what?"

"Don't play coy with me, Doctor. Why the cold shoulder all of a sudden? Just what the hell have I done now?"

"Gee. Can't imagine what, Jim." McCoy still had his back to Kirk, thrusting things into the refrigerator with a little more force than necessary. "It's just that the greenest Starfleet recruit is aware of the danger of swimming alone in unfamiliar waters." A weighty pause. "Or did you cut class the day they talked about that?"

Kirk swallowed once, twice, trying mightily to maintain his composure. "No," said through clenched teeth, his voice soft, low, barely restrained, "but I'm a strong swimmer and I know what I'm capable of."

McCoy snorted. "And apparently that includes battling the forces of nature and always coming up the victor." McCoy had turned to face the captain, his eyes angry, cold, hard, as if they'd been dipped in a vat of liquid nitrogen. "Look, it's bad enough that you have to risk your life in the line of duty – battling giant reptiles or loaning your body to super-advanced aliens or some such nonsense. As a starship captain that comes with the territory and as your CMO I'll continue to do everything in my power to put you back together again when necessary. But to risk your life unnecessarily on a whim? As your friend, I find that a little hard to stomach. I've got news for you Jim – there's no amount of medical magic I can work that will bring a man back to shore if he's been dragged out to sea and pulled under the water by a strong current." McCoy was really incensed now, small beads of sweat materializing on his upper lip. "If you insist on taking stupid chances with your life that's your choice, just don't do it on my watch!"

"That's enough, Doctor!" The anger that had dissipated on the beach was back full force. Kirk shouldered past McCoy, coming to stand in the middle of the dining room. He turned to face the irate medico, his cheeks flushed. "I thought you insisted I come on this leave so that I could relax, unwind a little. I was doing just that." Sunlight spilling in through the large window flashed menacingly in the hazel eyes.

"Jesus Jim." McCoy paused, licking his lips. "Whaddya think you're indestructible?! Well I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you're not!" The anger subsided somewhat, giving way to concern. "If you're not worried for yourself, then at least have a little consideration for us. You scared the hell out of us, Jim." McCoy glanced nervously at the Vulcan who had remained frozen in place, his eyes wide as he silently listened to this acrimonious confrontation.

Kirk looked from one to the other before stalking off to his room, casting a particularly frosty glare at Spock, who flinched slightly under its intensity.

"I'm going to take a shower – unless you two gentlemen find that to be too risky an activity. I could slip and break my neck after all," Kirk threw out, turning his back on his two companions. Spock could see the belligerent air in the firmness of his step, the rigid set to the shoulders as his CO made his way down the hall to his room, the door slamming loudly behind him.

His anger still smoldering, the doctor turned it on the Vulcan. "Thanks for your support, Spock – I really appreciated it. So much for our little agreement to try and keep 'Captain Death Wish' from doing himself serious injury – or worse!"

"I had already discussed the illogic of swimming alone with the captain on the beach, and had him convinced not to engage in a repeat of that activity. He was calm and contrite when he entered the house; your verbal attack only succeeded in bringing forth his anger, his innate stubbornness once again," Spock replied smoothly, favoring McCoy with a reproachful look. "You of all people should be aware that a subtle approach works best with Jim."

McCoy's face fell. "Sorry Spock, but I couldn't help it. Sometimes his desire to prove that he's Achilles just gets under my skin." McCoy stomped over to the table, seating himself heavily. "And he has a weak spot too; he just hasn't found it yet."

"Then perhaps it would be in your best interest to acquire a thicker skin," Spock commented, folding himself gracefully into the chair opposite the doctor. "Pushing him away will not help to correct the behavior."

McCoy's eyes blazed. "Don't you start on me, too! You can't tell me you weren't upset when you saw Jim alone out there in the water." Spock didn't answer but met the doctor's gaze steadily, his eyes and face a total blank. "I watched how you practically flew out of here. I've only ever seen you move that fast when trying to keep him from getting himself killed. Like when you threw yourself in front of those poison thorns on Gamma Trianguli VI."

Spock's continued silence was deafening.

McCoy paused, gathering himself, reaching for calm. "It bugs you just as much as it bugs me when he pulls a stupid stunt like this. You're just better at hiding it," he commented grudgingly, a ghost of a smile cast across the table at the indomitable Vulcan.

Spock struggled to keep his face neutral, but McCoy had struck a nerve.

"Aw, who'm I kidding? I'm not mad at you, Spock," he said at last. "It's just that that man," he indicated, waggling a finger in the direction of Kirk's room, "drives me to distraction sometimes."

Unsure of how to respond, Spock rose fluidly to his feet and headed for the kitchen where he began unloading the remainder of the bags from their shopping trip. After several minutes, McCoy joined him.

***

An hour later, Kirk quietly poked his head around the corner. McCoy was seated at the dining room table, a deck of cards spread out before him, thumbing through the pile in his hands.

Spock was curled into one of the large, soft chairs facing the windows, the portable reader balanced easily on his lap. Sunlight was streaming onto the chair from one of the skylights in the roof above, illuminating the Vulcan, making him look for all the world like a tall, lean cherub, despite the pointed ears.

Kirk smiled to himself. Leave it to Spock to find the warmest seat in the house. Clearing his throat noisily, he slipped into the room. Two heads snapped up, neither man speaking, watching him warily. _I certainly deserve it,_ he said to himself. _Probably waiting for me to jump down their throats again._

"Sorry gentlemen, I owe you an apology." Neither commented, continuing to stare mutely at him. "Of course you were right," he added, making his way to the table and slipping into a seat across from McCoy. "I know the rules as well as anyone, but unfortunately, following them is not always my strong suit." He tried flashing one of his trademark charming smiles.

McCoy harrumphed loudly, setting his handful of cards on the table.

Kirk tried again. "I guess I've always rebelled somewhat against authority."

"Well Jim, that being the case, I can see why Starfleet was such a good career choice for you." McCoy's sarcasm was almost palpable.

Kirk winced slightly at that – it stung! _Well, what did you expect? Praise and adulation? It's your own damn fault for having such a short fuse._ He continued on with his litany. "You know, when I was little and mom told me not to do something because it was too dangerous, it just made me want to do it more."

McCoy whipped his head around, locking eyes with Spock. "See? What did I tell you?" he said in a whisper pitched for Vulcan ears alone.

Kirk paused, pursing his lips and letting out a sigh before continuing. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I know you only had my best interests at heart." He glanced at each of his friends in turn. "I promise, no more swimming without at least one of you on the beach with me, okay? Does that fill your prescription, Doctor?"

He was relieved when a grin split McCoy's face, and Spock slumped noticeably in his chair, the tension leaving his shoulders.

"Sorry Jim. I overreacted, too," McCoy said contritely. "It's just that…"

Kirk's intuition kicked in with an almost audible click. "Just what, Bones?"

McCoy let out a labored breath. "When I was eight, I watched my best friend and his daddy drown, caught in a strong undertow."

"I'm sorry, Bones – I had no idea." Sincerely. "Want to talk about it?" he asked, scanning the doctor's face.

"Not really. It's not a pleasant memory. Suffice it to say that Mr. Tatum, a big man and an accomplished swimmer, died trying to rescue his only son, Forrest." McCoy paused, his eyes introspective for a moment. "It took me a long time before I was able to enjoy being at the beach again." He locked eyes with Kirk. "I'm really not looking to add to that memory, okay?"

"Enough said." _And now I certainly understand the reaction_, Kirk added to himself. McCoy looked as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "Let's put it behind us," Kirk said sincerely. The doctor nodded, and the captain grinned in response.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm starved," McCoy announced, smoothly changing the subject. He rose to his feet and headed for the kitchen.

"You took the words right outta my mouth, Bones," Kirk agreed, following closely on his heels. "What's for dinner?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

They settled into a comfortable daily routine: Spock was always up before the two of them, starting a pot of coffee before ascending the dunes to meditate. The doctor and Jim would take their coffee on the porch, Kirk heading down the steps when he was done, making his way toward the water. Jim would run into the waves and start paddling around, sometimes in serious swimming mode, sometimes just frolicking or lazing in the surf, at which point Spock seemed to rouse himself from his trance, descending from his vantage point to sit beside the water, waiting patiently for his captain to finish his morning ritual. The two would then spend the next hour engaged in some form of Vulcan Martial Arts or Terran wrestling while McCoy made breakfast.

This morning, before heading inside to start their meal, McCoy spared a glance at the two sparring in the distance, close to the waves as they gently caressed the shoreline.

As had been the norm for the last few days, McCoy noted with some consternation that they still weren't talking, at least not about anything important or personal – there was way too much activity going on for that: legs and arms flying, bodies being flipped through the air, torsos thudding against the sand, but at least they were connecting on some level. _It's gotta start somewhere,_ he reminded himself, _and neither one of them is known for his sterling interpersonal communication skills._ He turned on his heel, disappearing inside.

***

After a quick breakfast of fresh fruit, French toast, bacon and coffee, they piled into the flitter, heading for Umilaro Island. It boasted the planet's largest aquarium, home to not only native Trianian marine life, but numerous other aquatic species from throughout the Federation.

During the thirty-minute flight Spock took it upon himself to enlighten them as to what they'd be seeing today. As he droned on an on about the various animals showcased at the renowned facility, McCoy turned to Kirk.

"Think the place is big enough that we can ditch him once we get there?" he whispered hoarsely. McCoy's look was panicked, excruciating, the look someone had right before succumbing to a phaser stun.

Kirk's hearty laughter echoed throughout the small craft.

***

It turned out to be even better than Spock had described, McCoy thoroughly enjoying himself despite Spock's know-it-all attitude. They spent several hours walking around, taking in most of the exhibits, before going to the Trianian Cetacean exhibit – representing the crowning achievement in marine mammal habitat technology.

In an unconventional approach, the larger animals were not kept in small pens; rather a significant portion of the sea off the coast of Umilaro Island was surrounded by an underwater sonar fence which kept the cetaceans from leaving the area. The frequency was tuned specifically for the mammals; fish and other species could come and go at will, allowing the animals to eat, live and breed much as they did in the wild.

Tours were conducted via an underwater shuttle with a transparent aluminum roof and side windows, allowing for a spectacular view of the larger seagoing mammals in their natural environment. As their guide explained what they were seeing, providing background information on the various species present, Spock continued to comment softly on this or that, expounding on what he perceived to be gaps in the young man's knowledge, until finally McCoy had had enough.

"What is it with you anyway, Spock?" McCoy asked in an agitated whisper, punctuating his words with the wave of a hand. "Why can't you just sit back quietly and enjoy something? Why do you always have to act like a walking data base?"

Kirk, who was seated between the two, let out a long-suffering sigh before casting a glance skyward and pinching the bridge of his nose. _Here we go again,_ his body language screamed.

McCoy's inquiry was met with sincere surprise, but probably in deference to other passengers who had turned and were paying attention to this exchange, Spock summarily dropped the matter – along with his rolling commentary – returning his gaze to the view unfolding before them without a word.

At that Kirk turned to McCoy, a question in his eyes.

"Well, he asked for it," McCoy supplied by way of an answer.

***

An hour later, the tour completed, they were preparing to leave the building. As they passed the aquarium gift shop Spock hesitated, glancing in the window.

"Something catch your eye, Mr. Spock?" Kirk asked, coming to stand beside his First.

"My mother has expressed a fondness for collecting small statues representing indigenous animals from the various Federation worlds she and my father have visited. A Tasarti would make a suitable addition to her collection." Kirk was sure the Vulcan had squirmed ever so slightly.

"We certainly have time to go in and look if you want to."

McCoy, who had been almost to the exit before realizing his friends were no longer with him, had doubled back and now rejoined them. "What's the hold up, Jim?"

Kirk looked askance at Spock, who nodded imperceptibly, before answering. "Spock wants to find a gift for his mother." McCoy's head snapped to the Vulcan, a look of total disbelief plastered on his face, his mouth falling open of its own volition.

The doctor drew a breath, but Kirk interrupted before he could begin speaking. "And I'd like to look for something for Peter, and mom. Maybe you could look for something for Joanna?" Kirk's sideways glance plainly said _tread carefully._

McCoy had managed to rearrange his face into something that bordered on normal. "You know, I was thinking the very same thing. Well, what are we standing here staring at each other for? Let's go," the doctor announced, leading the way into the store.

***

On the trip back, they compared their purchases.

"So Jim, what did you find for your mom and Peter?" McCoy asked.

"Mom's easy. She loves those cheesy, touristy things that scream 'I-was-on-vacation-at-x-location,' so I got her a coffee mug with an aerial picture of this island chain on it that says, 'I went island hopping on Triani Prime' in Trianian and Standard, along with a collection of Trianian sea shells. As for Peter, mom says he's been talking a lot about joining Starfleet lately, so I got him a model of a traditional Trianian sailing vessel."

"I thought he wanted to be a scientist like his daddy. Why the sudden fascination with Starfleet?" McCoy glanced quickly at Spock. "I can't _believe _I just said that."

"Your vocabulary is improving doctor. I am impressed," Spock commented, the model of cool, calm, collectedness.

Kirk ignored the exchange. "Even though we arrived too late to save his parents, we did manage to kill off the parasites on Deneva in time to save most of Peter's classmates and their families. You know, in a letter he wrote me several months later, he actually thanked me for helping his friends, for keeping them from suffering the same fate he had."

Kirk paused, taking a shaky breath. "Not once has he ever blamed me for Sam and Aurelan's deaths. Mom says he talks non-stop about how 'Uncle Jim's ship' saved the lives of most of the colonists. In light of this, he wants to join Starfleet so he can save lives, too, and keep other children from losing their parents the way he did." The captain stopped, his face clouding briefly.

McCoy traded a surreptitious glance with Spock. Yep, Jim was still hurting all right, but the psychiatrist in him recognized that this was not the right time or place to discuss it. He tried to keep the focus on Kirk's nephew. "How's the boy doing, Jim?"

"He's doing okay, all things considered, but still has nightmares sometimes. Mom said that no matter how hot it gets during the summer, he still absolutely refuses to sleep with either his bedroom windows or door open." Kirk's look was unreadable.

"Don't worry, Jim, he's a tough, resilient kid, and still very young." McCoy's gaze softened as he turned compassionate eyes on the captain. "I'm sure he'll do fine."

Kirk's answering look was heavy with sorrow, but gratitude as well. "Thanks, Bones. He really is a great kid. Sam and Aurelan would've been proud." The darkness revisited his captain's face, and McCoy quickly changed the subject.

"Okay, your turn, Spock. Can we see what you bought?"

Spock flushed slightly, lowering his eyes and reaching into the bag at his feet. He pulled forth a small Tasarti and her calf, both sculpted from glossy, naturally-pigmented stones. The fine details were painted on by hand, giving the figurines a remarkably lifelike appearance.

"Wow, those look so real," McCoy commented, reaching out for the small statues, thinking of the animals they had seen in person only a few days before. Spock deposited them gently in the surgeon's hand. McCoy turned each over several times before returning his attention to the Vulcan.

"Why these, when there were so many things to choose from?"

"My mother has amassed quite a collection of animal sculptures procured from the various worlds she has visited with my father. I only wished to add to her eclectic ensemble."

"Really?" McCoy was impressed. "What other types does she already have?"

"Examples from Earth include a Chinese Panda and African giraffe. Off-world species are represented by a Centaurian Ceil Cat, a Berengarian Dragon, and a sehlat from her adopted homeworld, among numerous others. These Tasarti should prove to be a complementary addition."

"They are nice, Spock," Kirk chimed in, examining the small carvings McCoy had handed him. He returned them to his First.

"And what did you buy, Bones? Any luck finding something for Joanna?" Kirk asked.

McCoy glanced down at that, nervously reaching for the bag containing his daughter's gift. His hands trembled slightly as he withdrew his prize from the bag, lifting the lid on the satiny, hinged box.

"Why Bones, they're stunning," Kirk admitted, admiring the sparkling necklace and earrings, each encrusted with a single, polished, teardrop-shaped stone. They were multi-hued, having a shimmering, iridescent quality about them, heliotrope being the predominant shade, with darker, rich tyrian starbursts visible depending on the lighting, much like a cross between Terran opals and star sapphires.

"Kaliani," Spock supplied. "While in and of themselves the gemstones are plentiful, byproducts of the Erudali plant, only one in a thousand produces stones of that color. The marine florae only grow on certain types of coral found in the cooler waters near the planet's poles. A symbiosis develops between plant and coral, and when a portion of the plant's host is damaged, either through natural causes or as a result of predation by marine life, the damaged portion is reabsorbed into the plant where it is chemically altered to form these 'stones.' Once the plant has extracted all the necessary nutrients from the broken piece of coral, that which remains – the Kaliani – are secreted as waste. The gems sink to the bottom of the coral reef, where they are harvested by divers sifting through the sand. The most common color is orange, followed by blue, white, and red, with the rarest and most valuable type being the vibrant shade of violet purchased by the doctor."

"Well, the lady who sold them to me said that each color is given for a specific reason. The orange – friendship, blue as a 'thank-you,' white to family members and red symbolizing love."

"Yours are purple, Bones. What does that mean?" Kirk asked, his curiosity piqued.

McCoy compressed his lips into a thin line, hesitating slightly before answering. "The purple ones are traditionally given as a peace offering or something – used as a way to apologize or make amends for something you've done." He dropped his eyes to the floor of the flitter.

"And lord knows, I have a lot to apologize for where she is concerned," he muttered softly to himself.

"What Bones?"

McCoy hastily cleared his throat. "Nothing. I said, 'I'm getting airsick from all these twists and turns.' It seems Spock is no better a pilot than he is a comedian."

The Vulcan was formulating his verbal riposte, the thrill of the challenge sparkling in the dark eyes, when a look from Kirk silenced him as surely as if the captain had laid a hand on his shoulder.

Kirk's gaze then shifted back to McCoy, and while he knew the captain hadn't been fooled, thankfully Jim refrained from any further questions. His stomach in a knot, McCoy was sure Spock's Vulcan ears had picked up every syllable of his original comment.

After exchanging another indecipherable glance with the captain, Spock's expression changed ever so slightly, the Vulcan abruptly launching into yet another dissertation, this time quietly explaining the geological formations visible below them. Kirk responded to the Vulcan's observations as if on cue, all talk of gifts and family suddenly forgotten. McCoy gave silent thanks to Jim for not pursuing the issue further and after a few minutes, got in on the game of denial.

***

By the time they returned to their rented beach house, the air of tension that had surfaced temporarily in the flitter was gone. As had become his habit during this leave, Kirk started thinking with his stomach, and McCoy decided tonight would be as good a night as any to grill the steaks and other Earth foods they had purchased. A 'good, old-fashioned, Southern barbecue' he had called it.

After the huge meal, Kirk and Spock set up the chessboard on the dining room table, McCoy retreating to the couch with his deck of cards. After only one match however, Spock rose to his feet, announcing rather loudly, "Thank you for the game, Captain, your style of play was, as always, illogical chaos, but I find myself unusually fatigued this evening." His First's eyes drifted briefly to the form of the CMO before returning to his captain, Kirk sure he had seen concern settle there for a moment. Turning on his heel, the Vulcan headed down the hall toward his own room.

"Good night, Mr. Spock. See you in the morning." Kirk smiled slightly to himself. In all the years he had spent among humans, Spock still hadn't learned to lie convincingly – at least not to his captain. Maybe the delivery was a bit off, but Kirk appreciated the sentiment behind his First's actions. His gaze shifted to McCoy who was grousing under his breath, at nothing in particular as far as the captain could tell.

"C'mon Bones, let's go out on the balcony. The fresh air will do us good." He reset the chessboard before rising to his feet and heading for the door, stopping to accost the doctor with a questioning look.

"Sure Jim. I'm getting my ass kicked anyway," he said, tossing the cards he was holding onto the table and gathering the deck into a neat pile. "Just gimme a minute, okay? I need to grab something and I'll be right out."

"Okay Bones, whenever you're ready." The captain opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air.

***

Kirk had already assumed his customary position, slouched down in one of the chairs, his bare feet resting on the railing when McCoy made his appearance.

"Here," McCoy said, handing him a small, clear bottle filled with a vibrant blue liquid.

Kirk glanced up, startled. "Romulan Ale? Medicinal or purely recreational?" he asked appreciatively, reaching for the potent drink, dropping his legs briefly so the doctor could pass.

"For tonight, whatever you prefer, just don't tell Spock," McCoy replied, winking conspiratorially, seating himself in the chair next to Kirk. "Just see that you finish it – Doctor's orders," McCoy intoned, unscrewing the cap from his bottle.

They both sipped at their drinks, watching the moonlight dance eerily on the waves, the cool night breeze rippling the long grasses growing in small, erratic clumps along the dunes.

McCoy was the first to break the silence. "Boy, that cookout sure hit the spot; I'm still stuffed," the doctor mused aloud, patting his stomach appreciatively. "There's nothing like honest-to-goodness fresh, non-reconstituted food."

"Those steaks and chops were damn good," Kirk agreed readily. "And while the Trianian vegetables were delicious, that corn on the cob brought back memories of the lazy summer days of my youth growing up on the farm. Thanks, Bones that was a nice touch."

"Don't thank me – Spock's the one who found the corn. And the peaches," his CMO mused quietly. "I didn't see either of those at the market. Must've been what he got when he disappeared," McCoy muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's not important." Kirk saw the spark of a question form in the clear blue eyes. "Jim, where do you suppose Spock learned to make peach cobbler like that?"

"His mother _is_ human, Bones," Kirk reminded him with a smile.

"Thanks for enlightening me, Jim, I really had no idea," McCoy countered facetiously. They glanced at each other, erupting into spontaneous laughter.

"But seriously, that tasted almost as good as the cobbler my momma used to make, and nobody does peach cobbler like Georgians," McCoy declared with no small measure of pride. "Didn't Spock's relatives hail from Seattle?"

"The Stemples did, but we really don't know where the Graysons were from. Spock never mentioned it to me, anyway," he added as an afterthought.

"Well, I'm still impressed. The cobbler and peaches were both excellent."

"Gosh Bones, that's high praise coming from you. Don't tell me you're developing a soft spot for our resident Vulcan?" he asked incredulously. McCoy's only response was a crude, wholly human gesture that made Kirk grin.

"Aren't you going to let him know how much you enjoyed it? You didn't heap nearly this much praise on it at dinner."

"And contribute to his already swelled head and gigantic ego?" McCoy retorted in mock derision. "Not on your life."

"Well if you ask me, that was a nice gesture on his part," Kirk commented. He fell silent for a moment. "It seems our enigmatic Vulcan is just full of surprises. And so are you," he added, saluting the doctor with his bottle before raising it to his lips. "I was impressed when you refrained from teasing him about buying a present for his mother this afternoon."

"You know me Jim, I enjoy giving it to Spock as much as the next guy, but somehow even I can't fault the man for wanting to do something nice for his momma." McCoy was starting to relax, his cheeks ruddy with the heat created by the strong alcohol.

They lapsed into a companionable silence once again, Kirk beginning to feel a pleasant tingling permeating his fingers and toes as well. Yet inexplicably, despite the soothing warmth seeping through him, his thoughts turned to Miramanee and his unborn child. It was tragic, but could there have been any other outcome? Had she survived, Miramanee would not have been able to accompany him, and he certainly wouldn't have taken the child from her. It would have been like Carol and David all over again, his career once again taking center stage. What the hell was wrong with him? Was there nothing in his life that meant more to him than his ship? To his surprise, he found that notion strangely disturbing. He tried to steer his thoughts out of this sudden dark turn they had taken. "That was a nice gift you bought for Joanna today."

McCoy scoffed, his good humor instantly evaporating. "I haven't seen her face to face in over five years. I'm not even sure she wears jewelry, or whether or not her ears are even pierced." McCoy paused, swallowing deeply from his bottle. "Maybe I should have gotten her one of those animal statues that Spock bought."

"Taking a leaf from Spock's book?" he teased, attempting to keep the mood light. "Now I know you're upset – or that ale has definitely gone to your head already," Kirk replied wryly. Glancing at the doctor's dejected face however, his tone grew serious. "Well if she doesn't, this will give her a reason to get them pierced. Besides, don't all women love jewelry?" Kirk asked uncertainly. McCoy snorted in reply. "I'm sure she'll at least appreciate the sentiment behind the gift," the captain added helpfully.

"Well I'm not," his CMO retorted dourly. "She might be more like her mother than me at this point. After all, Jocelyn was the one who had the greatest influence on her during her formative years, and God knows, I could never please that woman no matter how hard I tried." He took another healthy pull at his drink. "What is it with me, Jim?" McCoy's speech was slurred, his eyes distant. "I had it all – Jocelyn was a beautiful, intelligent, exciting woman, Joanna a joy, and I screwed it all up because my career was more important to me." Kirk blinked, a shiver running down his spine. It was unsettling, how closely McCoy's thoughts were paralleling his own tonight.

"Bones, don't beat yourself up," Kirk soothed, his eyes searching the doctor's face. "You did what you felt you had to, and so did she," _just like Carol did_, he added silently, resting a sympathetic hand on McCoy's forearm.

"You'd think I'd have learned though, Jim. I was given a second chance with Natira, and I was willing to take it, to give up everything for her when I thought I only had a year left to live." He paused, compressing his lips into a thin line before lifting the bottle of alien liquor to his lips, draining the remainder of the powerful liquid. "But the minute I was cured, I jumped at the chance to abandon it, abandon her, and for what?"

"Maybe she just wasn't the right fit for you Bones. Maybe, as selfish as it sounds, we need you more, the _Enterprise_, Starfleet, the medical profession, needs you more. And maybe," he added, suddenly inspired, "you realized this yourself on a subconscious level."

"Well, if there's one thing I'm good at, it's being selfish, putting my needs before those of the people I supposedly care about," McCoy commented darkly.

Kirk carefully evaluated the doctor's bitter self-accusation before answering. Despite his gruff exterior, McCoy was one of the most compassionate, peaceful people he knew. His vision dissolved into an image of McCoy gently cradling a screaming newborn, rapidly followed by others: haunted eyes filled with almost inconsolable anguish as the doctor haltingly explained Peter's possible fate; the bleak, empty stare that touched his CMO's face as he squarely shouldered the blame for Spock's accidental blinding; the desperate, forlorn timber to his voice as he begged Parmen to spare Spock any additional humiliation. And, of course, the doctor's quick thinking on Spock's homeworld that saved both his friends from the savage, uncontrollable violence of Vulcan biology. Not the acts of an unfeeling, uncaring, self-centered man.

"Not so fast, Bones. I don't believe that for a second, and neither do you, really." He squeezed the forearm he was still holding. "Bones, look at me." Red-rimmed, glassy eyes, bright with unshed tears, stubbornly met his. "On the _Enterprise_ I've seen you put _everyone's _needs above your own, on a regular basis."

"The _Enterprise?_" McCoy was adamant. "I'm not you, you know. To me, the ship's just a hunk of metal. It's the people I care about, but why should they matter more to me than my little girl?" He looked away suddenly, but not before Kirk glimpsed the self-loathing, the remorse, flaring sharply behind the ice-blue eyes.

"That's exactly my point, Bones. Right now, at this moment in your life, maybe we need you more."

"More than my daughter needs me? You're off your rocker, Jim." McCoy was more upset than he'd realized, the hurtful words continuing to spill forth like a rain swollen river overflowing banks no longer able to contain it. "And I suppose you're fine with Carol keeping David totally out of your life? Doesn't bother you at all, does it?" McCoy's tone was harsh, biting.

Kirk looked away, his face clouding suddenly. "Of course it bothers me, but I have to consider what's best for him. Carol's there full time. I'm not, and never can be."

They listened to the sound of the waves breaking against the shore for a few moments, each of them thinking about what could have been, what might have been, what should have been. McCoy spoke first. "You know, that sounds more like her argument than yours, Jim," his CMO countered softly, the compassionate side of his personality reasserting itself.

"And just what would you have me do, Doctor?" Kirk shot back, turning eyes ablaze with frustration on McCoy. "It's not like I can bring him with me on the ship, and you of all people are aware how infrequently we get back to Earth." He stopped abruptly, willing himself to regain his composure, to beat down the anger that had suddenly surfaced, downing the last few swallows of his drink as well. "At least I know he's safe, living in her world, and for right now, that's enough for me," he said with more than a hint of resignation audible in his words.

McCoy considered that silently for a moment before answering. "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm supposed to be cheering you up, not dragging you down with me." A stifled sob escaped the doctor's lips.

"It's okay, Bones." Kirk's tone had mellowed as well. "You miss Joanna – that's understandable. Even when a father isn't directly involved in his child's life, he still cares, thinks about that child, worries whether or not that child misses his presence in their life." He paused unexpectedly, thoughts of David consuming him, absently twirling the empty bottle in his hands.

McCoy's voice was laced with sadness. "It's a bitch, isn't it, the not knowing, the wondering…? We're a pretty pathetic pair, aren't we? Wallowing in our self-pity." The doctor sighed heavily. "I think I'll turn in, Jim; I've opened quite enough festering wounds for one night." He rose unsteadily to his feet, heading for the door, but paused briefly to pat Kirk's shoulder with a trembling hand. Kirk glanced up quickly, a thin, contemplative smile on his lips that did not reach his eyes.

"Thanks, Bones. See you in the morning."

Left alone with his thoughts, Kirk considered the doctor's words. Yes, it was awful, the worst kind of personal pain, to be separated from his child. _But what's best for David? Is it really better that he has no part in my world? Was Carol right, making that decision for him?_ _And was I a coward for not fighting her on it?_

His career caused him to be away from his family for extended periods of time, but that didn't mean he didn't care, did it? He thought of Sam, the two-year anniversary of his brother's death rapidly approaching, and was surprised at the amount of pain the memory brought on, a chaotic amalgam of sorrow, emptiness and guilt.

His nephew, mom and his absent son were the only blood relations he had left, yet he didn't feel their absence as keenly as he'd expected, realizing with a jolt that the _Enterprise_ and more specifically her crew was his family now, McCoy and Spock his brothers, and they were more important to him than any material possession or prestigious career path. He had come a long way from his virus-induced declaration that he would never lose his ship. He had already been prepared to sacrifice the ship, disobey orders, do whatever it took to ensure their continued survival. Spock had said it best: "Captain, there are some things which transcend even the discipline of the service." If Spock could realize this and be willing to put it into practice then so could he. In a sudden flash of insight, it occurred to him that each of them had already done so for the others, and he understood fully that there was precious little he himself wouldn't do if it came down to a choice between his friends' lives over anything else.

_We're an interesting bunch of misfits,_ he mused silently. _We're not as pathetic as we think, we've just traded one type of family for another, but we love them just as fiercely, just as loyally as the families we left behind._ It made him view his friends in a whole new light. And he was eternally grateful to McCoy for insisting upon this leave. This might be the last time the three of them were ever together in this type of situation. He decided then and there to savor every remaining moment of this trip; to enjoy thoroughly what the universe had seen fit to give them. He rose to his feet and after a momentary bout with dizziness, a side-effect from the Romulan Ale no doubt, he made for his own bed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Spock was seated in one of the comfortable chairs facing the morning sun, engrossed in something on the portable reader, when Kirk emerged the next morning. The captain crossed to his First, seating himself gingerly on the couch. Spock looked up, amusement dancing around his eyes.

"Sorry I'm late, Spock. Do you still want to work out this morning?" he said, more than a little chagrined. He closed his eyes briefly, clenching his teeth. He'd love to get his hands on the guy with the plasma torch who was trying to cut open his head.

He noted with dismay the almost-smile Spock favored him with. "Jim, are you sure you wish to participate in this activity this morning?" he asked, the amusement deepening, carrying over in his tone as well.

"Why wouldn't I?" he countered, attempting but failing to completely stifle his wince.

"Your…overindulgence from last night may hinder your ability to focus."

"I know I ate a lot yesterday; all the more reason to burn it off," he argued, slowly getting used to the sound of his own voice as it ricocheted around inside his skull.

"I was not referring to the food, Jim," Spock replied indulgently.

"Then what?" _Just how the hell did he know about the ale?_

"The fact that both you and the doctor 'overslept' this morning, coupled with your rather pallid complexion, leads me to only one conclusion."

"And that is?"

"Romulan Ale can be rather strong for the uninitiated, Jim. Therefore, I have prepared a Vulcan remedy of sorts," he said, nodding toward two tall glasses of pinkish-orange liquid on the table in front of them. "Vulcans do not typically indulge, but since the Romulans are a related species, there are certain Vulcan foods which can serve to lessen the after-effects." He handed Kirk one of the drinks.

The captain reached out for the thick concoction, eyeing it dubiously.

"What's that, Jim?" McCoy asked, slowly entering the room, immediately pressing his fingers to the side of his head.

"A cure for what ails us, apparently," the captain responded, trading a grudging look of acquiescence with the Vulcan. For a man who claimed to have no feelings, Spock could be quite the mother hen – or in his case mother sehlat – at times.

"Jim, you didn't," McCoy said, cautiously seating himself beside Kirk, sinking into the soft cushions. "I thought we agreed not to tell him," he said, lowering his voice and jerking his head at the bemused Vulcan.

"I didn't say a word, Bones. Seems I didn't have to." He looked at Spock again, the captain's face melting into a look of stern admonishment, to be met with a raised eyebrow, Spock's face totally innocent.

McCoy looked from one to the other. "Here we go again," he observed, casting a glance from one man to the other and shaking his head in bewilderment. "Why do I always feel like the third nacelle?" Still no one spoke. "Care to let me in on the secret?" He cringed as the sharpness of his own voice grated against his temples.

"There is no 'secret,' Doctor. I have surmised the nature of your 'indiscretion' of last evening, and am offering my services to aid your recovery." Spock rose to his feet, headed for the kitchen. "And now, if you gentlemen will drink your tr'lath, I shall prepare breakfast. Neither of you are in a condition to do so."

McCoy shifted his gaze to Kirk. "That man takes the fun out of everything," he lamented, his expression crestfallen. "We can't even enjoy an honest-to-goodness hangover."

"Now Bones, he's only trying to help. Be appreciative and drink your drink," Kirk admonished, sipping cautiously at the glass in his hand. Well, it wasn't ten-year-old brandy, but he'd had worse. He repressed a shudder as he recalled the Horen he'd downed on Pollux VI. Now _that_ had been some god-awful stuff…

***

Since it was early afternoon before Kirk and the doctor were feeling somewhat like themselves again, the three decided to explore the lush woods behind their beachfront cottage. They set out at a leisurely pace, examining the wide variety of flora and fauna.

A crooked, narrow path of sorts cut through the deep tropical forest, the canopy above broken here and there, allowing for scattered sunlight to sprinkle the floor below. Various colorful native fowl flitted and twittered among the trees, their songs melodious and soothing.

Most of the trees were fairly tall, twenty meters or so, the majority of the branches near the tops. The trunks were grayish, rough, their bark uneven, giving the appearance that they had been hurriedly slathered with thermal concrete. Some bore fruit, others were topped with wispy, feathery leaves which sighed and whispered softly in the constant tropical breeze.

Despite the muted sunlight, there were numerous species of wild flowers, some large, bright, robust, others dainty, delicate, fragile, looking as if the slightest puff of wind would cause them to disintegrate.

They had traveled several kilometers over the rough terrain, each man several meters apart from the others, focused on something that had caught his eye when a strangled yelp from behind brought Kirk and Spock running. They found McCoy in a heap on the ground, muttering and cursing under his breath. Kirk reached him first, grasping him gently by the shoulders and helping him to sit up.

"You okay, Bones?" A nod, followed by another mild oath. "What happened?"

"I seem to have stepped in a gopher hole, or at least the Trianian equivalent of one," he informed the captain sardonically.

Spock had reached them as well, dropping to one knee beside the doctor, a tentative hand on the man's bicep, the dark eyes searching his face.

"Are you hurt?" Kirk asked.

"Just my pride," he informed them gruffly. "Now if you two will give me some room, we can be on our way," he announced, attempting to get to his feet. His right ankle would not hold his weight, however, and he swayed unsteadily on one leg for a few long seconds before his companions helped him to sit down once again.

"It would seem you are not uninjured after all," Spock offered in that matter-of-fact tone that always managed to grate on the doctor's nerves.

"Gee, thanks, Spock. Don't know how I would have made that diagnosis without your expert medical opinion." McCoy's face flushed red, his tone rife with annoyance.

"All right, at ease, gentlemen," Kirk interrupted, trying to stave off the inevitable verbal slugfest.

"How bad is it, Bones?"

Tugging his scanner from the pouch at his waist, he ran it over the uncooperative joint. "It's not broken, just a severe sprain."

"Can you make it back to the house?"

"We can offer assistance if necessary," Spock added helpfully. The Vulcan still had a firm grasp on the surgeon's arm.

McCoy, with the aid of his two companions, climbed to his feet once again. He gingerly set the offending limb on the ground, shifting his weight from his good leg onto the one in question. He was able to bear a little weight on it this time, but it was accompanied by a grimace and yet another oath. His friends settled him once again onto the soft undergrowth.

"Captain, it would take a minimum of forty-two point three minutes to return to our temporary residence at a good pace. Given the doctor's compromised condition, I estimate the journey would take at least seventy-five minutes."

"It'll be dark before then," Kirk noted.

"Perhaps I can go and retrieve the flitter, sparing the doctor unnecessary further damage to his injured ankle. Alone, I can make the trip in thirty point eight minutes."

"Bones?" Kirk asked, turning to McCoy, allowing the final decision to rest with his CMO.

"That might be the best thing. I'm not sure how far I can go," he admitted grudgingly.

Spock was on his feet in an instant. "With your permission, sir." He glanced at Kirk, who dismissed him with the wave of a hand. The Vulcan turned to leave.

A thought occurred to Kirk. "Wait Spock, where are you going to land the flitter?" he asked, glancing at the sprawling canopy of branches above their heads.

"We passed through a small clearing point three seven kilometers back. I shall land there, return here on foot, and help you to assist the doctor to that location."

"Go on then, get going. You know where to find us."

Spock turned on his heel, setting off down the narrow path at a steady jog. Both watched the Vulcan until he disappeared from sight.

"Sorry, Jim," McCoy blurted out suddenly.

Kirk turned his focus to his CMO. "For what? Spraining your ankle? Happens to the best of us, Bones." He patted the doctor's arm, the waning sunlight highlighting his easy grin. "I'm glad." At McCoy's alarmed look, he hurried to properly qualify the statement. "Not glad that you hurt yourself, but glad that we have some time alone." His look grew serious. "You okay?"

McCoy looked at him as if the captain had had his mind erased by a Klingon Mind Sifter. "No," he said sarcastically. "I sprained my ankle, remember?" He regarded Kirk with more than a little concern, touching the younger man's forehead with the back of his hand. "Are _you_ okay? The heat getting to you?"

Kirk snatched his head away. "That's not what I meant, Bones. I meant after last night." He turned tender eyes to his friend. "You were pretty upset when you left."

"Yeah, well, Romulan Ale has a tendency to do that," the doctor answered, squirming uncomfortably.

"Bones…," Kirk, ever impatient, cast a frustrated glance at his CMO. "You know what I meant." McCoy could practically see the annoyance vying with his captain's desire to offer whatever support he could.

"This leave isn't supposed to be about me," the doctor argued, trying desperately to change the direction of the conversation, wanting to avoid at all costs following it down the path it was currently on. "It's supposed to be about you and Spock."

"Spock's not my only friend, you know. I worry about you, too."

A jolt, followed rapidly by a flood of shame, passed through McCoy. Over the last year the captain and XO had grown much closer, although he doubted either one would admit it, and he often felt like the odd man out when the three of them were together. At times it was uncanny to watch them; it was as if they were conversing without words, knowing immediately what the other was thinking. McCoy found it slightly unnerving, but it also served to emphasize the growing personal rapport between the two. In light of that, he found it strangely reassuring to hear Jim reaffirm their friendship.

"Thanks, Jim." He saw that Kirk instantly understood the myriad of meanings behind those words, the captain's affectionate grin speaking volumes.

"We have close to forty minutes before Spock gets back." Uncertainty clouded his CO's eyes, Kirk asking tentatively, "tell me about Joanna. What's she doing these days?"

It seemed unavoidable. And he knew full well what Jim Kirk was like once he made up his mind about something. A sigh of resignation escaped his lips. "Well, last time I talked to her, she was going to nursing school. That was over a year ago." Try as he might, he wasn't able to meet that troubled gaze.

"That's good isn't it?" Kirk shook his head, backpedaling rapidly. "Not that you haven't talked to her for a year, but that she's in nursing school. That's what you wanted for her, right?"

"I dunno, Jim. That's what I want, but is it what she wants?" he asked, finally locking eyes with the captain. "And do I have the right to ask that of her, expect that of her? I haven't exactly won any awards for 'Father of the Year.'" He fell silent for a few moments before continuing. "Secretly, I'd always hoped she was more like me than her mother, but is that really realistic? After all, I certainly haven't been the best role model, and have had virtually no influence in her life, except to leave a gaping hole in it."

"I wouldn't say that, Bones. I'm sure no matter what she knows that you love her, and I don't see anything wrong with wanting the best for your child."

"But what if that conflicts with what the child wants? When she was younger, Joanna was quite musically inclined, gifted in fact. What if she wanted to pursue that as a career instead, and is only going to nursing school in the hopes of pleasing her absent father?"

He found it painful to articulate that which he had kept bottled up for so long. "She's made it clear to me in the past that when I left her mother, I left her, too." His voice shook slightly, and he settled his gaze on a point just beyond Kirk's left shoulder. "How do you make a five-year-old understand that leaving her was the hardest thing you've ever done, but that there was no other choice?" He met Kirk's eyes. "I tried to make things work with Jocelyn, but I couldn't give her what she wanted, and in the end, it would have been worse for Joanna if we'd stayed together."

"I think maybe you're asking the wrong person, Bones. Send her a tape, along with the jewelry, and ask her these questions, tell her these things that you're telling me, but if you find that you can't do that, at least tell her you're proud of her, that you love her. Let her know what she means to you." He paused, his face darkening. "I know David will never have a place in my world – he doesn't even know I'm his father. My greatest regret is that he will never know what he means to me, or that I'm proud of him. And I _am_ proud of him," he finished with conviction.

Their conversation was interrupted by the roar of the flitter rapidly approaching.

"Thanks Jim, I will." He clasped Kirk's shoulder firmly, shaking it slightly. "And I hope someday David will get to know his father. Carol made a huge mistake, keeping you from him."

"Sometimes I think so, too, but usually I'm glad that he's safe back on Earth, not traipsing around the galaxy. That choice didn't work out so well for Sam and his family."

McCoy started to say something, but at that moment Spock appeared, racing down the path.

"It's only been twenty-five minutes, Spock. I find it hard to believe your calculations were off by that much," Kirk teased while helping McCoy to his feet.

"My calculations were based on retracing the exact course we followed here," Spock answered, slightly winded, grasping the physician's other arm as the three set off toward the flitter, McCoy hobbling between the two. "As we arrived by a rather circuitous route, I was able to reduce my time by ten point six minutes by traveling – what is the Earth expression—"

"As the crow flies?" McCoy interjected dubiously.

"Precisely, Doctor. In addition, the undergrowth was not as dense as I anticipated, allowing me to travel at a greater speed."

"Wow! Two miscalculations in one evening, Spock. How will you ever live this down?!" McCoy was beside himself.

A perturbed look settled over the Vulcan's features, but not before one of relief registered there briefly, and the doctor realized he had not one, but two close friends.

***

They did a more thorough examination of McCoy's ankle upon returning to the house, Spock running a tissue regenerator over it for a few minutes to tighten the stretched ligament. Leaving him resting comfortably on the couch under the watchful eye of Kirk, his foot propped up on a pillow, Spock headed for the kitchen to prepare a late supper.

Despite the Vulcan home remedy, both men still looked a little peaked after their bout with Romulan Ale, and after quickly dispatching their meals, headed off to bed, leaving Spock alone in the combination living/dining room.

He tried reading a journal article on improving the range of axial frequency capacitors, but to no avail, events from the last few days still on his mind, preventing him from concentrating fully. It had been obvious on the return trip from the aquarium that McCoy was upset about his daughter, and he had tried to afford the captain and the irascible surgeon some privacy last evening in the hopes that by discussing it amongst themselves, Kirk could offer some insight, some emotional support to help ease the doctor's mind. Spock was accustomed to seeing McCoy in anger mode, in CMO mode, in grouch mode and even in his own crotchety version of affection mode, but seeing him visibly shaken, despite the surgeon's best efforts to hide it, had pained him for reasons he didn't fully comprehend.

He had been displeased with himself by the worry the discovery of two empty bottles of Romulan Ale had caused him the next morning. McCoy and the captain were both grown men, and consuming the ale wasn't dangerous, just extremely foolish due to the unpredictable side affects likely to plague non-Vulcanoids, but he found it strangely disconcerting to think of either of them suffering any ill-effects from their somewhat imprudent act.

He had been in Starfleet for over nineteen years now, and until the last three, had managed quite nicely to maintain a respectable emotional distance from his fellow crewmen. But somehow, these two men had gotten past all his defenses, each in different ways, in different areas, and he found it slightly unsettling to imagine a time when he might not be serving with either one of them.

He shook his head. They still had two years left on their current mission, and who was to say what the future held? No point in thinking about it now. Kaiidth.

With that he rose to his feet, turning out the lights and heading for his own room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Not wanting to overtax McCoy's newly-healed ankle, they spent the next day on the beach in front of their cottage, McCoy in a chair under an umbrella, alternating between reading, dozing and arguing with Spock about nothing in particular.

Kirk had rented a windsurfer from a local shop and spent hours at a time in the water, racing parallel to the shore or skipping and flying through the waves. At one point he even convinced Spock to try, and while the Vulcan's natural grace made riding the streamlined watercraft easy, it didn't help to dispel his distaste for swimming. After fifteen minutes the First Officer was back on the sand at the water's edge, pretending to examine a native jellyfish that had washed ashore, but McCoy knew he was keeping a close eye on his captain's escapades.

Despite the relaxed atmosphere of this day McCoy found himself a little panicked. Their vacation was winding down and as far as he could tell, Jim and Spock still hadn't managed to resolve the issues plaguing them. To his mind, nothing had changed – that connection, that _spark_ he had observed between the two over the last few months was gone. He had seen the occasional flare-up of it during this trip, but that was all. For the most part, it was as if there was a physical barrier separating them, preventing the heightened closeness they had so recently shared. For two men who were so self-assured in most aspects of their lives, they could both be hesitant, tentative, uncertain, when it came to managing their unusual friendship. But how to get them talking? He had already broached the subject with Jim, and wouldn't dare do so with Spock – that was sure to send the Vulcan fleeing in the other direction. God help them, it was up to them now to figure things out, for good or bad. Knowing there was little else he could do to move things along, he vowed to allow them some time alone this evening in hopes that they'd somehow come to their senses.

***

After a long day on the beach they headed back to the house, Kirk and Spock making dinner while McCoy rested his ankle. Afterwards they assumed their customary positions – the captain and XO around the chessboard at one end of the dining room table and the doctor at the other with his deck of cards, foot still propped up on pillows at Spock's urging.

The next hour passed amiably enough, McCoy chattering on about various things they had seen on this world, Kirk speculating on the state of the repairs to the _Enterprise, _asking for Spock's input here and there. Finally McCoy, after losing his sixth straight game, rose stiffly to his feet complaining that his ankle still ached.

"A good, long soak before bed it just what it needs. I'll see you two in the morning," he announced, hobbling stiffly down the hall to his own room. Jim and Spock continued their game, but the Vulcan soon found his thoughts drifting away from his current surroundings.

The issue of the link still weighed heavily on his mind. Add to that Kirk's sense of anguish, which had increased over the past few days. Spock was certain he knew the rationale behind it. He had felt Kirk's mind pressing against his, confused and hurt as to why he was unable to reach Spock, and the Vulcan was loathe to confront him with the justification for his actions. Would Jim be resentful when he learned just how much Spock knew about his emotional turmoil of the last few months, courtesy of the fledgling link? His captain, despite their close friendship, was a very private man, keeping most things to himself; choosing to handle personal difficulties in his own way, on his own terms.

Kirk's voice roused him from his self-introspection. "Spock, it's your move. You've been staring at the board for five minutes now."

"My apologies, Captain. I was currently attempting to formulate the proper equation for reducing delta wave electroionization." He swallowed as Kirk eyed him dubiously. Reaching out a hand he made a move which Kirk countered instantly.

"Checkmate." The eyes that searched his face weren't exultant however; they expressed something else altogether.

"Spock, what's wrong?" Kirk asked, completely unaware of the thematic disconnect of that statement, the comment totally removed from the current flow of the conversation. Spock sighed inwardly. That question again; the one that always managed to resonate most uncomfortably in all the dark places he didn't dare try to illuminate. He could see Kirk struggling to find the right words, to ask the proper question. "Have I done something—?"

"No," Spock interrupted immediately. "It is nothing you have done."

"Then what?" Kirk reiterated, his impatience getting the better of him, the knowing eyes penetrating, ferreting out those things he was too reluctant to discuss openly with this man. "You're ashamed, aren't you? Just like you told me once." Kirk's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of his First's continued silence. "Vulcans forego personal relationships, personal friendships, and because of the unique rapport we share, you believe this makes you less Vulcan somehow." Kirk's voice was dejected, his discomfiture audible to one who knew what to listen for. Spock saw the hurt that flitted briefly over his captain's face.

Realizing he was the reason behind that pain, Spock hurriedly dropped his eyes, aware that Kirk, gleaning all the necessary information from his body language, felt he was on the right track.

"That's it, isn't it? You don't want to appear 'less Vulcan' to those around you." Again, Spock found himself unable to answer.

"Well I've got news for you Spock. As much as you sometimes like to believe it's not true, you _are_ half-human. Like it or not, that's a part of you, part of what makes up the singular entity that is my friend. And as your friend, I'm not asking you to go against everything you've been taught up till now, all your core beliefs – hell, I'm not asking you to give up anything – but I am asking you to listen to, or at least hear, that other side of yourself," he declared ardently. Kirk pursed his lips, taking a deep breath, all the while maintaining eye contact with Spock. "I'm not looking for you to be totally human, or totally Vulcan, but a combination of both, since after all, that's who you are. I think you'd be surprised what it can add, how much of a difference it can make in your life, in the decisions you make, in how you interact with others. You know," Kirk added softly, "being who you are is nothing to be ashamed of."

Hearing this, Spock was instantly reminded of the tape he and the doctor had watched when they thought Jim irrevocably lost in Tholian space. His captain had expressed the same perceptiveness, the same insight into Spock's psyche then. He would have permitted this critique of his dual nature from no other, but Jim had never pressured him to be something he was not; the fact that Jim had always accepted him solely for who he was lent significant weight to the opinion. He had sensed this same conviction from his captain in the meld they shared on Uriman. Jim trusted him, believed in him, acknowledged and greatly appreciated his worth as an individual, but felt that Spock was unnecessarily dismissing a vital part of himself. How like his captain to have unwavering faith in his ability to do, or achieve, anything. Unfortunately, Jim did not understand that he had attempted this type of integration before, several times in fact, each failure affecting him more deeply than the last.

It occurred to him that he was a coward; not in the sense of fear in the face of danger – he had, and always would, do whatever it took to protect those around him, from rushing headlong into a room filled with leaking toxic phaser coolant to aid a downed crewman, to placing himself between his captain and a lethal lead projectile. He was, however, a coward in the face of personal relationships. He had spent the better part of his life running from them – from his young tormentors, from Vulcan, from T'Pring, his father, Leila, Christine, even McCoy to an extent – instead of meeting them head on. His relationship with Jim was the only one he ran toward. He sighed heavily.

"I have tried in the past, Jim, with disastrous results," he admitted honestly. He paused, quietly reflective. "Haven't you wondered why Miss Kalomi believed so strongly that there was a chance for a future life with me?"

Without knowing anything about it, but his voice ringing with conviction, Kirk answered immediately. "You were much younger then, Spock. Don't think you're the only one who has ever made a mistake with the opposite sex thanks to youthful inexperience. And unfortunately, we can't blame all our mistakes on youth – just look at me over the last few months…," he trailed off.

He watched as Kirk's face turned melancholy, his eyes going blank, focused inward on memories Spock couldn't follow. The look caused all kinds of unnamable reactions within the Vulcan. He realized with a jolt that Jim was right; it was useless to attempt to deny his human half, at least to this particular human. He had tried to do so all his life, but Jim had a knack for touching this part of his soul. He strove to find the right words to say to remove this look of self-recrimination from his captain's face.

"Recent events were in no way your fault, Jim. Each time there were extenuating circumstances which led to an unavoidable situation. Hardly something for which you can blame yourself."

"That may be true where Elaan was concerned, but Miramanee is dead, and that is undeniably my fault." Whispered, eyes averted, nearly crushed under the oppressive weight of that candid confession. Jim was in pain, and Spock didn't know how to fix it.

"I am sorry for your loss, Captain. I can understand—" he began helplessly.

"No, you can't." A touch of irritation. "This is nothing like the loss of Miss Kalomi."

They fell silent, Spock dropping his gaze to his folded hands. What did Jim see in him? He couldn't even find it within himself to properly offer comfort to his captain when he needed it. He was not worthy of this man's friendship. When he dared to look at Kirk again, the captain's expression, along with the predominant emotion swirling about the room, had abruptly changed from one of frustration to confusion.

"There's more to this isn't there? It has nothing to do with her," Kirk discerned keenly. Expressive eyes bored into him. "What aren't you telling me, Spock?" his captain asked suddenly, his concern now gently enveloping the Vulcan. Spock shifted uncomfortably in his seat but found himself unable to offer any further explanation.

"You've been distant ever since Sarpeidon, and both you and Bones had almost nothing to say about your time there." Spock's only reply was a muffled sigh, so Kirk continued. "Bones did mention something about a woman – what was her name? Zeeruth? Zarabel?"

"Zarabeth," Spock interjected suddenly.

"Yes, Zarabeth. McCoy said she offered you shelter, food, warm clothing, and helped you find your way back to the library. I'm guessing there was more to it than that." The hazel eyes were dissecting him once again, peeling back layer after layer of his defenses. "What, Spock? What happened that has you so upset?"

"Vulcans do not get 'upset,'" he countered stiffly.

Kirk nodded slightly, choosing to sidestep that battle for the moment. He tried for a different tack. "Do you know why she was there, Spock? Did you meet any others of her kind?"

Spock gathered himself and began speaking softly. "She was sent into Sarpeidon's past, just as we were, but in her case it was as punishment for treason. She was exiled alone in that vast, frozen wasteland." Kirk waited silently for Spock to continue. "Doctor McCoy and I were the only beings she encountered during her time there." Realization dawned almost instantly as Kirk processed that information, grasping fully the severity of her predicament.

"During my time in Sarpeidon's past, I underwent some psychological changes," he confessed quietly.

"What kind of changes?" Kirk asked gently.

"A temporary change in personality, in emotional control," Spock answered in a hushed whisper. "Doctor McCoy speculated that since we were thrust 5,000 years into the past, I reverted to the behavior of my ancestors living during that time on Vulcan. We were savages then, Jim, ruled by our passions, our rage. And I was passionate about Zarabeth." He stopped, propping his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. "I thought McCoy my rival." He dropped his eyes to his lap. "I wanted to kill him." The surreal vision of his fingers closing around the doctor's throat swam before his eyes.

"Jesus, Spock. Why didn't you tell me?" Kirk had jumped to his feet, his quick, measured steps tattooing loudly about the room.

"For what purpose? There was nothing you could have done," the Vulcan stated matter-of-factly.

The captain whirled to face him. "That's not the point, Spock! Don't you remember anything I said in Sickbay after Uriman?" Anger flashed briefly in Kirk's eyes but then the captain turned away suddenly, running a hand through his hair. He paused, and took a few deep breaths.

Turning back to face Spock, his eyes were again compassionate, but this time commingled with hurt. "Why are you so afraid to lean on me? Don't you trust me?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion. "And don't give me any of that crap about how Vulcans aren't afraid. I believe I know you better than that," he snapped, his anger besting him at the moment.

His captain was leaning on his hands now, staring across the table at Spock, his eyes wide, vulnerable, questioning, the uncertainty clearly visible. It was the look that melted shields, obliterated barriers, made him bare his soul against his better judgment.

"It is not a matter of trust. It never has been." Quiet, his voice barely above a murmur.

"Then what?" came the instant retort.

"You were dealing with your own issues; I did not wish to burden you with mine as well." Softly. Head bowed, once again unable to meet those eyes which could always peer unerringly into the core of his being.

"Oh for the love of God, Spock." Clearly exasperated. "Let me get this straight. You were trying to protect me, and thought you were doing so by—"

Head raised suddenly, meeting the captain's sharp gaze squarely. "Jim, let us speak plainly. You also have not been forthright with me of late."

"And just what is _that_ supposed to mean?" Kirk asked suspiciously.

"I heard you, our first night here – and each night since – struggling with your nightmare. Listened as you retreated to the porch, only to return thirty-six point three minutes later." Spock watched as Kirk digested that, the color draining from his face, caught, his private hell dangling in the air between them. "The next morning, you said 'I slept better than I have in the past few weeks.' At the time, I could sense no dishonesty in your reply, which means your sleep has been disturbed for quite some time now, and yet you did not approach me with this information." Spock paused, admonishing his captain with an unwavering glance. "It works both ways, Jim."

Kirk blinked, stunned, completely derailed by the utter truth of that statement, his anger bleeding away. "You're absolutely right." Softer now. "How can I expect you to do what I'm incapable of doing myself?" Straightening up, he favored Spock with a thin smile. "Some example, huh?"

"You _are_ only human," Spock countered, and instantly felt the level of tension drop by several degrees.

Kirk couldn't help but laugh at that, a small grin turning up the corners of his mouth. "I think I need a drink, Spock," he said, not attempting to disguise the fatigue in his voice, heading for the kitchen. "Can I get you anything?"

"Perhaps some tea," he replied. Kirk returned a few minutes later with a half-full brandy snifter in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. Spock wasn't surprised to see that it was his favorite blend, prepared exactly as he preferred it.

Reseating himself, Kirk took a healthy pull at his glass. He swirled the amber liquid absently for a few moments, head down, uncharacteristically unsure, hesitant. "You were right a while back. It's time for me to trust you, as I have asked that you trust me." He took another sip of the fiery liquid before continuing. "I lost more than Miramanee, Spock. She was carrying my child." Spock inhaled sharply at that, caught completely off guard, his eyes snapping to Kirk's.

"I grieve with thee."

The look on his captain's face went straight to his heart, tearing and rending it with unimaginable force. Glancing away the Vulcan fought for control, balling his hands into fists, his desire for privacy warring with his wish to be completely honest with this man, to be as open with Kirk as the captain was now being with him. "Jim, it is quite possible that Zarabeth was carrying my child as well." He watched Kirk's personal pain fall away, to be replaced with empathy – for him. Spock continued. "In fact, it is my fervent wish that she was with child. She was so alone, Jim…such terrible emptiness. If this could have eased her suffering even slightly, then my loss of control was not without purpose." Spock stopped speaking abruptly, overwhelmed momentarily by the intensity of his rising shame.

Ever since he had returned, Spock had grappled with the enormity of his decision. True, he'd tried to send McCoy through the portal alone and when that didn't work, he had opted to return with him rather than have the doctor trapped against his will, but he could have gone back immediately once McCoy was safe. However, as soon as they'd materialized back in the library, he found himself unable to do so. He was certain if he had leapt through again, his captain would surely have followed. And upon seeing the relief etched on Kirk's face, the sheer weight of the moment lifted with the heavy sigh that escaped the CO's lips, feeling his captain's anxiety melt away as Kirk had gently clasped his shoulder, he knew instantly his choice would be to remain here, at Jim's side. But by doing so, he had condemned an innocent woman, a woman he admittedly had feelings for, to a life of unimaginable loneliness. Yet as painful as it was to leave Zarabeth behind, it would have been more painful still to turn his back on his captain. He did not wish to be the cause of any pain his captain would have to endure. It was a decision couched in selfishness and one of which he was not proud.

He knew without question that this was a sentiment he would not have shared with McCoy. Perhaps the doctor would have reigned in his acid tongue for once, perhaps not, but he certainly would not have completely understood the reason behind this atypical display of tenderness. Spock grasped the reason perfectly, the humiliation washing over him unbidden and unwelcome nevertheless. If there was one emotion Spock was intimately familiar with, it was loneliness. As his eyes met Kirk's, he saw his captain silently acknowledge the difficulty of Spock's choice. And just as surely Spock knew he would be unable to endure even one word of sympathy from Jim; one single word would have the power to completely eradicate his shields, completely destroy the last vestiges of his emotional control. Somehow, the captain seemed to know this instinctively, his only reaction being to briefly rest a supportive hand on the Vulcan's forearm. Spock met his eyes, and saw only understanding, acceptance and undeniable affection there, knowing they mirrored his own.

And it was enough. For both of them.

***

McCoy closed his door noiselessly, slipping back into the warmth of his bed.

The sore ankle had been a ruse, an excuse to leave the two of them alone. He had lain awake, listening as the muffled sounds of conversation between the two continued to dwindle. _Damn it! My whole purpose behind this leave was to get them to open up about things, to each other at least if they wouldn't talk to me. I honestly thought that giving them some space would help to move things along. Jim seemed to take our little talk from the other day to heart, and I really expected him to follow through. _He had chided himself. _Serves me right. That's what I get for leaving the two most stubborn, pigheaded men in the universe alone to sort things out._

Throwing the covers back he had bounded for the door to his room, but his conviction had faltered as his hand came to rest on the doorknob. _And just what the hell do I think I'm gonna do – march out there and demand they _make nice _with one another?_ He had taken a cleansing breath, allowing some of his anger to burn off, his mind churning as he tried to work out a solution. _I'll just go out there, pretend I'm hungry or something, and see what happens._ He had opened the door just a crack when he heard Jim begin speaking in hushed tones. At first, Spock's answers were clipped, hesitant, Jim doing the majority of the talking. Then, Kirk's voice had risen forcefully and his resolve had strengthened. He had opened the door and placed a foot in the hallway but then it had happened – he could hear the conversation beginning to swirl around him, the voices softer now, calmer, both responsive, support for one another audible in their tones even though the words were indistinct. It didn't matter that he couldn't make out what was being said. It was none of his business anyway, and he really didn't care what the content was. Besides, that wasn't the important thing; what mattered is that they were finally confiding in each other. _At least I hope they are…I'll have to see how they interact tomorrow to be sure._

With a self-satisfied sigh, he pulled the covers up to his chin and closed his eyes, falling asleep to the sounds of their muted discussion.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: And so we come to the end. Thanks to all who have read, reviewed and/or favorited this piece. I have loved these three since I was a child, and to me, this side of their friendship, which we never got to see on screen, just begged to be explored. I hope in some small way I have done it justice...

**Chapter 8**

When McCoy emerged from his room later than usual the following morning, Jim and Spock were already gone. Crossing to the window, he spotted the two on the beach, but they weren't sparring as expected. Both were seated, facing the incoming waves, Spock with his knees drawn up to his chest, long arms wrapped around his legs, Kirk Indian style.

At first glance they looked like two little boys discussing the details of some childhood game of strategy. Shoulder to shoulder, heads bent close, they seemed small and forlorn, lost against the backdrop of the broad horizon and the undulating, pulsing water. Upon closer inspection however, he could see their tension, their unease, characterized by Spock's ramrod stiff spine, Jim's excited, impatient demeanor. They glanced at each other sparingly, hesitantly, a head nodded faintly here and there, shoulders shrugged occasionally, Spock virtually still, Jim punctuating his words with telltale human gestures now and then.

Talking. Not casually. A serious conversation.

The doctor watched them, stupefied, for a few minutes. It was progress, and despite what had happened last night, it was more than he'd hoped for or anticipated, frankly. He'd expected distance, self-imposed isolation for a few days, as suggested by their normal modus operandi after a serious emotional discussion. To see them engaged once again in a deep, meaningful dialogue came as quite a surprise. _Maybe these two knuckleheads have finally come to grips with what they mean to each other. Finally come to understand the strength they draw from one another. _He shook his head, a vague smile on his lips. _I suppose they deserve more credit than I give them, _he admitted grudgingly. Noticing movement on the beach he saw that Kirk had gotten to his feet. Tearing his eyes from his two friends, he headed for the shower.

***

"Spock, before we start, there's something I need to ask you."

Spock felt his stomach clench, but quickly quelled his uneasiness. "By all means, Jim."

"Please, sit down," Kirk said, indicating the soft sand beneath their feet. Both settled themselves comfortably, a strained silence falling between the two. "I'm not sure how to begin, so I'll just charge right in."

"That is, of course, your nature, Captain." Amusement fluttered behind the dark eyes.

"I can't feel you anymore." Noting Spock's immediate puzzlement he hurriedly strove to clarify the statement. "In my mind, I mean. Except for a few days ago, when we decided to dump McCoy out of the boat, I haven't been able to sense you at all for several weeks." He paused, groping for words to explain something which in recent months had always been a non-verbal, subliminal state, readily accepted by both but discussed by neither. "For some time now there's been a…connection between us. I can feel your presence sometimes in the back of my mind. I don't hear your thoughts exactly, but somehow your meaning is crystal clear nevertheless."

"Do you find it distressing, Jim?" Concern and trepidation had replaced the amusement.

"No, by no means. In fact, I've become accustomed to it; it's strangely reassuring, and to have it suddenly disappear was rather disconcerting." Again a long pause, cries of sea birds and the whisper of the breeze filling the morning calm. "I'm at a loss to understand why." The hazel eyes, swirling with doubt, searched his face. "I'll ask you again – have I done something wrong?"

"No Jim. It is not your fault, but mine. I have closed down the link as much as possible."

"But why? Do you find my thoughts that chaotic?" Kirk was idly tracing patterns in the sand at his feet.

Spock swallowed. Last night, they had promised honesty, but Jim was sure to find this current turn of events an unwanted intrusion into his personal life. He proceeded uncertainly. "In recent weeks, especially since Uriman, where the meld we shared served to strengthen the link, I have become more aware of your thoughts."

"And?"

"During periods of heightened emotional stress your thoughts often became more pronounced. At these times it became nearly impossible for me to limit the mental contact between us. Shutting down the link proved to be the only solution." Haltingly. Eyes following the water's edge as it caressed the shoreline.

Astonishment. Followed shortly by embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Spock. Must've been hell for you."

"Jim, you do not understand. It was not due to the intensity of your emotions, but a conscious attempt to respect your privacy which caused me to close down the link. You chose not to discuss those things that were troubling you with me, so I did not wish to infringe on your desire to deal with these issues on your own terms. You did not seek out my counsel, and therefore I was uncomfortable…eavesdropping…on your most personal thoughts."

Kirk absently picked up a small shell and flung it at the water. "Can you always…hear my most personal thoughts?" he asked uneasily.

"Forgive me; that was an inaccurate depiction of events. Typically, I only sense your consciousness. There is no transfer of clearly expressed or formulated thoughts and ideas per se; only an indistinct awareness of your state of mind, a fundamental understanding of your immediate wishes, although the emotional turmoil of the past few weeks is a new development," Spock informed him softly.

"Can we get things back to the way they were?"

Not 'Will you please get the hell out of my head.' as he had expected. Relief flooded the Vulcan. "I can instruct you on the proper management of the link. Now that you have been made aware of this…area of difficulty, with sufficient training you should be able to control it on your own."

A new idea occurred to Kirk. "How did this link come about, Spock? Is it a result of the melds we've shared?"

"They have contributed to strengthening it, but it is more likely to have come about due to the fact that our minds are inherently compatible."

"Is this common?"

"Instances of a spontaneous link between friends are rare, but not unprecedented."

"Is it permanent?"

A pause, the uncertainty returning briefly. "Not at this stage. It is still in its infancy – easily severed if that is what you wish."

A sharp, reproachful glance from the hazel eyes in response to that question.

"Are they frowned upon?"

"It would be illogical to 'frown upon' something that is part of our heritage, Jim. It springs directly from Vulcan telepathic abilities – an innate part of our biology we cannot control, no more than we can stop Pon Farr."

Kirk shifted uncomfortably. "I meant more because I'm not Vulcan."

A soft sigh escaped Spock's lips. "I am unaware of any other interspecies link," he answered truthfully.

Kirk paused, eyeing him warily before continuing. "Since they are rare, and since no other interspecies link that you know of exists, does this account for some of the…emotional distance…between us lately?"

Spock dropped his eyes at that, his cheeks burning. For this particular human, reading him came as easily, as naturally as moving through solid rock did for a Horta. "It has proven to be problematical on occasion," he answered at last.

"So, in other words, embracing this link, which is a direct result of our friendship, has made things difficult for you." A beat. "_I've_ made things difficult for you." Blunt. Direct. And the anguish in his captain's tone made Spock cringe.

"No Jim, you have not. This did not result from anything you have done." _Except to offer me your friendship, freely, without reservation, _he added silently. _ Unfortunately it seems I am woefully unsuited to reciprocate what you have offered me, but this friendship and the bond which has ensued from it mean more to me than you can possibly imagine. _Unable to verbalize what he was feeling, Spock met his captain's troubled gaze, allowing his eyes to sum up his feelings on the matter.

"Do _you_ want this link between us to be severed?" his captain asked softly. The usually strong, self-assured voice quavered slightly.

"No!" Forceful. Adamant.

"Then to be quite honest, I really don't understand what the problem is." Kirk's tone was disappointed, but his gaze held no reproach.

"In my culture, we are taught to forego the feelings which accompany such a connection between individuals. Such feelings are permitted only between close family members."

"What about within this bond between friends? Surely that is permitted."

"That is also accepted, but not as readily."

"What about IDIC? For a race that preaches diversity and claims to embrace varied cultural beliefs Vulcans can be rather uncompromising on some things." His respect for Spock was warring with his frustration at the Vulcan's rigid society.

"It does seem rather contradictory, does it not?" The corners of Spock's mouth turned up ever so slightly.

"Seems to me, you need to decide how important this acceptance is, and what matters the most to you." Again, Spock could detect no condemnation, just a statement of the facts as his captain saw them.

And yet, Kirk's words had the power to bring him up short. With the precision of a skilled surgeon Jim had cut unerringly to the heart of the problem. And as usual, the wants and needs of the two halves of his psyche were diametrically opposed. Spock found himself unable to answer. Once again, Jim gently coaxed him to examine the issue from all sides. In some ways, Jim knew him better than Spock knew himself.

"What do _you_ want, Spock?"

"I do not know," he answered immediately, honestly.

"Okay, then let's take this one step at a time. What does your Vulcan half want?"

He considered carefully before answering. "To be wholly Vulcan; to not be judged simply by my hybrid nature."

"And what does your human half want?"

This answer was by far much more difficult. Kirk waited patiently for Spock's response. "Expression," he said at last.

"And what do you, as Spock, want?"

"To be who and what I am." It was a sudden, visceral response, crashing over him like the surf pounding against the shore.

Kirk smiled, nodding in affirmation. "Then go with that; do what _you _want, not what others want _for you._ You're thirty-seven years old and for whatever reason, you have not been able to successfully merge these two sides of your personality. Maybe it's due to the pressures your society has put on you, or more likely, the pressures you've put on yourself."

Spock blinked at that.

"Work on getting your Vulcan and human halves to coexist harmoniously instead of constantly being at war with each other. Hell, your parents have been together for forty years, so it's possible, right?" He grinned, but it quickly faded; either Spock didn't get the joke or he wasn't amused in the least.

Clearing his throat he continued, "But remember, it won't happen overnight, and it can't be forced upon you by me or anyone else. It has to come from within you." He took a deep breath, his gaze intent upon the Vulcan. "But that's not to say you have to do it alone. I'll be here for you if you need me, Spock. All you have to do is ask, to trust me. And I promise, I'll never betray that trust. I'm your friend; let me help."

Spock bowed his head at that, feelings he had spent a lifetime hiding, repressing, denying, surging to the fore. "Jim. I am overwhelmed at the moment. I am unsure how to handle the emotions currently pressing me."

"Then don't handle them. Explore them, allow yourself to _feel _them. Even Vulcans feel, Spock. But you need to decide how you let them influence you; no one else can make that choice for you – not other Vulcans, not your parents, not McCoy or even me – and once you do decide, you need to accept that decision. It's a learning curve, Spock – one of many you've dealt with in your life, but perhaps the most important – and most challenging one. Whether or not you choose to share the outcome of that decision with anyone else is up to you and you alone. But it's a decision you yourself must be comfortable with. In the end, that's all that matters."

After a few moments of quiet reflection, Spock met his captain's eyes squarely. "Thank you, Jim. I shall consider it."

With that, Kirk got to his feet, brushing Spock's shoulder with a gentle hand before making his way back to the bungalow, leaving the Vulcan alone with his thoughts.

***

Making his second appearance of the morning, McCoy cautiously made his way into the great room where he found Spock seated at the dining room table, quietly strumming his Vulcan lyre. _That's the first time he's pulled that thing out since we've been here, _McCoy reflected to himself. _Unless he's playing for an audience, he tends to go to that when he's trying to work something out. I just hope he's working toward the right answer…_

He could hear pots and pans rattling in the kitchen, Kirk busying himself with what smelled like breakfast. "Do you want cinnamon in your oatmeal, Spock?" Jim asked as McCoy rounded the corner into the kitchen.

"Yes, Jim that would be agreeable."

"Oh hi Bones. I'm just making some fried ham and eggs. Want some?" he asked, slightly chagrined.

McCoy dropped his eyes to the large hunk of meat, swimming in butter, sizzling away in the pan. He traded a glance with Kirk, letting his disapproval show. "Sure Jim, anything to save you from eating all that yourself." Kirk colored slightly. "I do hope you're planning to burn that off somehow today?" McCoy asked, pursing his lips, his eyes lingering on the captain's midsection. "Wouldn't want to have to put you on a diet the second we get back," he teased.

Kirk's gaze returned to the task at hand, expertly flipping the smoked chunk of pork. "I'd like to remind you that it was you and Spock, not me, who bought this," he said, indicating his breakfast, "and far be it for me to waste food," his look was sly, mischievous, "but as a matter-of-fact, I thought we'd take the flitter and go hiking on Ashera Island today – that is, if your ankle is up to it?" McCoy nodded in affirmation.

"I've done some research, and we can explore the Ruins of Nidi City," Kirk continued. "It's estimated to be over eight thousand years old, complete with native mosaics, artwork and temples. Should be a 'fascinating' venture," he remarked, casting a glance in the Vulcan's direction.

At that, Spock's head snapped to them, and McCoy was sure he actually saw the Vulcan's ears twitch. "A wise selection, Captain. The architecture and artistic creations of the craftsmen of Nidi City represent the pinnacle of the Essirian civilization and culture." Without missing a beat he carefully laid the lyre on the table, turning his full attention to the two of them. "Constructed as the primary residence of the Purtanari, their equivalent of a divine ruler, the Frinteralo dynasty ruled for thirty-three generations from this location before—"

Spock continued with his discourse, but McCoy had stopped paying attention.

"Way to go, Jim," he whispered through gritted teeth. "Once you get him started, it'll take nothing short of a matter-antimatter explosion to make him stop." McCoy rolled his eyes skyward, a heaven-help-me look following shortly thereafter.

"What Bones?" Kirk said, no longer focused on the task at hand, watching Spock fondly, completely unaware his breakfast was beginning to burn.

"You two are just too much sometimes, you know that?" No response. "Here, gimme that and go sit down," he said brusquely, snatching the spatula from Kirk's hand and beginning to load the contents of the pan onto two plates. He smiled to himself as the captain retreated to the dining room, slipping into a seat across from the Vulcan. Spock hadn't even paused to take a breath yet. Yep, things were definitely getting back to normal.

***

Spock moved away to make a 3D holographic recording of a massive stone obelisk emblazoned with Trianian pictoform writing, and McCoy seized the moment to observe the captain. Something had definitely shifted in Kirk. His eyes followed Spock's every move, but weren't marked with the excessive worry and concern he'd observed over the past few weeks. Kirk was more self-assured, confident, comfortable in his First's presence, watching Spock with the indulgence of a proud parent, or more accurately, the quiet admiration of a younger brother.

McCoy decided to take advantage of Kirk's good humor and quietly approached the captain. Hell, now was as good a time as any. "Well I must say, this vacation has been good for you, Captain – Mr. Spock, too. You both seem to have reaped the benefits of some time away from the pressures of the ship." He hesitated, asking in a whisper he hoped was beyond the scope of Vulcan hearing, "I'm guessing you had that little talk with Spock?"

Startled out of his reverie, Kirk turned to McCoy, hurriedly arranging his face into a neutral expression. He could plainly see the captain's internal struggle – reveal what he knew or preserve their privacy.

"Again Jim, I'm not asking for details. Just how he's – how the two of you – are doing in general," McCoy added, his gaze soft, encouraging.

Kirk pondered the question for a few moments before remarking, "As much as I hate to admit it, you were right Bones. It did take some doing, but in the end, he opened up to me, and made me realize I need to be more forthright with him, too." The captain paused before adding, "I think we've been able to resolve a few things – for the better, I hope." He offered no further explanation, and McCoy didn't press for any additional information – everything he needed to know was contained in that simple non-answer.

They followed Spock around for the next several hours as the Vulcan attempted to absorb all the intellectual stimulation Nidi City had to offer. Jim seemed to be enjoying himself, asking Spock for specific details about this or that, but McCoy was getting just plain hot and tired, his stomach starting to protest loudly as he realized they'd missed lunch.

Brushing the dust from his sleeves, he sidled up to the captain who was looking over Spock's shoulder at a colorful bas relief depicting an ancient Trianian fishing village. "Jim, I hate to be a spoil sport…" Kirk turned, favoring him with a look that said _'since when?',_ but he forged on nevertheless, "but I'm starting to get hungry. You two gonna be done here anytime soon?"

Kirk looked to Spock, and once again it was as if McCoy was on the outside looking in. And to his delight, that invisible barrier he'd noticed recently seemed to have disappeared completely. For once, seeing their silent communication gave him a sense of relief, not unease.

"I thought maybe we'd eat out tonight – my treat." McCoy offered graciously.

"Oh? Did you have somewhere in mind, Doctor?" Kirk turned his attention to his CMO once again.

"Well, there's this little place on the coast of Rinba, not far from the Alkonost Market actually – the guy who sold me the Romulan Ale is the one who told me about it – that's supposed to have outstanding native cuisine. Might be worth checking it out. Who knows when, or if, we'll ever get back here."

"What do you think, Spock?" Kirk asked, glancing expectantly at his First.

"If the shopkeeper's taste in the culinary arts is at all a reflection of his taste in alcoholic beverages, it should prove to be a most fascinating experience."

"Then it's all settled; let's go," McCoy said, turning abruptly and heading for the flitter.

***

"Well now, will you look at that." McCoy's grin was upbeat, boyish. "I haven't seen one of those in thirty years." He stopped before a 21st century old Earth style pinball machine, hidden away in a corner of the restaurant. "My uncle Elmer used to have one like this in his basement – a bona fide antique – and my cousins and I used to play it for hours when we were kids." He eyed the contraption with more than a bit of nostalgia. "Now _this_ is my idea of recreation. C'mon Jim, how 'bout a game?"

"Not me, Bones." He turned to his First Officer, who had remained silent during this exchange, an eyebrow creeping into his hairline. "Care to give it a try, Mr. Spock?"

"Captain I am unfamiliar with this type of entertainment."

"C'mon, Spock, you beat the pants off me at everything else," McCoy interjected. "Tonight's tab for the three of us says I can wipe up the floor with you."

"I fail to see how using me to remove soil from the floor will enable you to best me, but the machine does look intriguing. Perhaps one game."

"You're on! I'll even let you have a practice run before we get to the challenge," he offered magnanimously.

"Thank you, no. That will not be necessary Doctor. I shall be able to learn the basic principles of play by observing you."

"Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't give you a fighting chance." McCoy was positively gloating as he dropped in the credits necessary for two games. "I'll even go first; that'll give you the final turn, and a last chance to catch me – if you can."

McCoy expertly launched his ball into play, and after several minutes, had amassed quite a few points. At last the ball drained down one of the side lanes and he stepped away from the archaic game cabinet, bowing Spock to the fore.

After a moment of careful study and a few experimental flicks of the flippers, Spock drew back the plunger, sending his ball up the side ramp and into the main body of the machine. It only rattled around the field for about thirty seconds however, before draining down one of the side channels.

"This is gonna be a cakewalk," McCoy said with a self-satisfied smirk as he assumed his position at the front of the machine. His turn lasted considerably longer than Spock's, the doctor adding a good number of points to his already hefty score. Finally, the steel ball rolled down the center and he moved aside, allowing Spock access.

"Looks like I've finally found something I can whoop his ass at," the doctor whispered conspiratorially to Kirk.

Unfortunately, Spock didn't fare much better on his second ball, losing it rapidly down the center lane. McCoy launched his final ball and had soon racked up an impressive score before it finally disappeared down the right side. "This is it, Spock – last ball. Last chance you have to beat my score."

Spock took his position in front of the apparatus again, a look of supreme concentration creasing his brow. He drew back the plunger, shooting the silver orb into the field of play. Suddenly, the machine came alive in an earsplitting maelstrom of light and sound, points accumulating rapidly, Spock winning extra ball after extra ball. Several long minutes later, McCoy's mouth fell open in complete, unmitigated disbelief. It was as if someone else was now playing, Spock expertly trapping the ball on the flippers, aiming carefully in order to hit all the proper targets in their proper sequence, making miraculous saves, his turn stretching interminably as far as McCoy was concerned. Not only did he manage to catch the doctor, but doubled the physician's score before finally having the last ball disappear from sight.

"I am unsure, Doctor – did my attempt capture the essence of the game of pinball?" he asked, turning to McCoy, his face completely blank and expressionless. The _Enterprise's_ CMO could only stare mutely, scowling, his gaze shifting between the Vulcan's face and the glowing orange numbers registered on the scoreboard.

Kirk's smile was delighted. "Why Spock, I had no idea you were so good at pinball."

"Are you sure you haven't played before? I think I've just been snookered," McCoy lamented, more than a little disgruntled.

"Gentlemen, it is a relatively uncomplicated form of recreation. One need only calculate the speed, distance, force and trajectory necessary to attain proper ball placement thus ensuring the maximum acquisition of available points. I used the first two balls experimentally in order to learn the specific parameters of the field of play. Thereafter, it was only necessary to apply the rudimentary principles of physics in order to achieve certain success."

"Jeez, Spock. Only you could take the fun out of something as simple as pinball," McCoy commented gruffly. "Let's go eat. Hopefully the food will be better than the entertainment," he grumbled, heading for an empty table.

Kirk hung back with Spock. "You know, you could have taken it easy on him," he admonished in hushed tones, but his eyes were positively alight with mischief.

"Jim, I did 'take it easy' on him," Spock replied in all seriousness.

Kirk couldn't help but laugh.

***

They spent their last few days enjoying the natural wonders Triani Prime had to offer during the day, Kirk and Spock relaxing on the porch at night. McCoy always joined them for a little while, and then came up with an excuse as to why he had to leave, granting them the private time together necessary to strengthen and reinforce their friendship; fully convinced they were discussing those things with each other they found themselves unable to share with the doctor for whatever reason.

The change he noticed in the two was profound. The distance that had marked their relationship for the past few weeks had all but disappeared. They were on the road to recovery. Healing. _Another successful mission, _McCoy congratulated himself as he lay in bed their last night. _My work here is done. _

***

The captain and First Officer had been sitting on the deck in companionable silence for some time now, enjoying the peaceful serenity of their final night on Triani Prime. The sounds of the night enveloped them: insects, singing in a symphony of whistles and clicks; the night breeze as it gently caressed the long, wispy grasses atop the dunes; the surf, more agitated, angry tonight, pummeling the shoreline. Kirk turned to Spock and opened his mouth to speak, shocked to discover the Vulcan had dozed off in his chair. _That nature preserve must have been too much for him,_ Kirk mused affectionately. _He was like a kid in a candy store, examining all the various species of native reptiles. I've never seem him so excited._ He got silently to his feet, stepping inside briefly. He returned with a warm blanket in hand, which he proceeded to drape over the sleeping form, bending close to a delicately shaped ear. "I'm glad you're my friend, Spock," he whispered softly. "It is the most extraordinary gift anyone in the galaxy has seen fit to give me, including my own life."

Jim stepped away, heading for his own room. In the dim light, Spock's lips curved up ever so slightly…

FINIS


End file.
